Pride and Prejudice
by Vixere
Summary: Remus is a lively, useful and agreeable young man, who lives with the Evanses as their orphan ward. When the haughty Mr. Black comes to town, Remus cannot help but take a violent and immediate disliking to him. Regency!AU, Pride & Prejudice retold as Wolfstar. Background Jily.
1. Peverell House is Let

**A/N:** Essentially this is an unrealistically yet unapologetically queer Regency AU, whereby the use of surrogates is pretty commonplace, and therefore marriages between males are accepted, respectable and widespread. Courtship customs dictate that the gentleman of greater fortune pursue the gentleman of lesser fortune, who is expected to act in a feminine and reserved way and await an offer of marriage.  
It is worth noting, however, that marriage between two women is still a matter of some controversy in this universe.

The plot follows that of both the novel Pride and Prejudice and the 1995 BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice fairly closely. Significant portions of dialogue are lifted from these sources, though as the fic progresses it becomes more original and diverges from the canon of P&P.

Look, basically, I just wanted to write Remus as the sassy Elizabeth I know he is deep down, alright?

Cast List:

Sirius Black - Mr. Darcy  
Remus Lupin - Elizabeth Bennett  
Lily Evans - Jane Bennett  
James Potter - Mr. Bingley  
Marlene McKinnon - Miss Bingley  
Dorcas Meadowes - Herself  
Mr. Evans - Mr. Bennett  
Mrs. Evans - Mrs. Bennett  
Petunia Evans - Mary Bennett  
Kitty Evans - Kitty Bennett  
Lydia Evans - Lydia Bennett  
Xeno Lovegood - Mrs. Phillips  
Barty Crouch Jr - Mr. Wickham  
Peter Pettigrew - Mr. Collins  
Emmeline Vance - Charlotte Lucas  
Lord Phineas Nigellus Black - Lady Catherine de Bourgh  
Bellatrix Black - Anne De Bourgh  
Regulus Black - Georgiana  
Molly and Arthur Weasley - Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner  
Colonel Frank Longbottom - Colonel Fitzwilliam  
Colonel Caradoc Dearborn - Colonel Forster  
Benjy Dearborn (nee Fenwick) - Himself

**Chapter One: Peverell House is Let**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

Or, depending on the proclivities of the gentleman in question, a husband.

The proclivities of one gentleman, in particular, were currently the subject of rigorous conjecture by one Mrs. Evans of Longbourn.

The family was walking home from church when Mrs. Evans first broke the news, calling out to her husband in such a shrill, excitable voice that the whole party stilled to watch her bustle over.

"Oh, Mr. Evans! I beg you to wait! I've just had the most wonderful news from Mr. Lovegood!"

Mrs. Evans had insisted on staying behind a little longer to speak to her church friends, and had waved them down the road without ceremony. Now, however, she approached at speed — red-faced and puffed, skirts gathered up in her fists as she charged up the little dirt path that led back to Longbourn.

Mr. Evans adopted an expression of polite interest as he turned to face his wife, which seemed to his children ever-so-slightly insincere. "Is that so, my dear?"

"Yes! Yes! Just this morning he was walking the road out Tenderton way, you know the one, the backroad that goes by Peverell House—" Mrs. Evans paused to draw breath, "—and what do you think he saw?"

"A fair bit of rain, if Tenderton is having weather anything like what we are."

"Mr. Evans! I beg you not to be obtuse!" Mrs. Evans swatted her husband's arm. "He saw a gentleman , if you can believe it! Peverell House is let at last!"

"Indeed?"

"This is the best news I think I have ever received—"

"I cannot think why."

"Mr. Evans, you must know that I am thinking of this gentleman marrying one of our girls!"

Mrs. Evans was playing the odds, for the Evanses of Longbourn had four daughters — Petunia, Lily, Kitty and Lydia, and only one male ward — a penniless young man named Remus. It would be more favorable to Mrs. Evans' scheme if the gentleman preferred ladies — four being a greater number than one.

Mr. Evans raised one bushy eyebrow. "He likes girls, does he?"

Remus, who had been walking arm-in-arm with his cousin Lily, thought that this was a fair question.

Queer marriages had become more commonplace since His Royal Highness King George III had wed the Duke Charles Louis Frederick of Mecklenburg, Prince of Mirow. The King had made use of his cousin's vacant womb to beget an heir, utilising a strange medical instrument that allowed one to plant a man's seed into a suitable host without the need for intercourse. This had satisfied 'the heir problem' , as it had been called, and ushered in a new era of legitimacy for queer marriages in England.

These days marriages between gentlemen were almost as ordinary as traditional ones. The matter of courtship in circumstances such as these did not differ too wildly from that of a man and a woman; the part of the gentleman was played by the party in possession of the vastest fortune, leaving the other to occupy a more demure, passive role.

Mrs. Evans ignored her husband's question in favor of relating every fact and particular that had been entrusted to her.

"Mr. Lovegood had it from Father Albus that the gentleman's name is Potter. He has come to the country for a change of scenery, and brings with him three companions — his lady cousin, her attendant, and a fellow gentleman who is said to be his particular friend."

"His particular friend, eh? Seems a hopeless business, if you ask me. The gentleman is already spoken for."

"Mr. Lovegood swears that it isn't so; Mr. Potter made some remark about his companion's fastidiousness — apparently he has not yet found someone to marry, though he is said to be very eligible and should have no trouble attracting a partner."

"He may still prefer men."

Mrs. Evans continued as though she had not heard her husband's reasoned comments. "Mr. Lovegood said that Potter has a vast fortune — over five thousand pounds a year ."

"Mr. Lovegood had an awful lot to say today, it seems. I should not be surprised if he knows the names of each of Potter's relatives and the colour of his undergarments too."

At this, Remus let out a laugh. It was a warm, clear sound which carried pleasantly on the noon-day air. Beside him, Lily attempted to hide a smile by pressing her palm to her mouth.

Mrs. Evans rounded on Remus.

"Surely you would not find it a laughing matter if the girls and I were all to starve in the streets!"

"Indeed, I would be sorry to see it, Aunt." Remus said steadily, sparing Lily a brief smile as she squeezed his arm reassuringly. "But you know I would never allow you to starve."

Remus was the orphan child of Mr. Evans' beloved late sister, Hope, and a solicitor from London by the name of Lyall Lupin.

Mr. Lupin had been a man of modest ambition. He never desired to distinguish himself as a barrister, nor was he interested in moving from his small yet comfortable accommodations in Gracechurch Street. The Lupins had lived simply and cheerfully, with adequate income, reasonable prospects, and a great measure of love between them.

Remus himself showed a pleasing enthusiasm for his own education, and it was thought that he should attend Cambridge when he eventually came of age. He would graduate and secure an income, and in doing so, secure the hand of a suitably respectable person.

And so it would have been, had Mr. and Mrs. Lupin not died in a dreadful outbreak of smallpox.

Remus alone survived.

And so at the age of eight, Remus had sojourned to the little village of Godric's Hollow to live with his Uncle and cousins. Though quiet and grief-stricken at first, Remus had quickly formed an affectionate relationship with his cousin Lily.

As time passed and Remus' spirits lifted, it became apparent that he was an agreeable and quick-witted youth. By the time he had reached five-and-twenty, Remus was regarded as being at least moderately handsome. It transpired that his features, which had been rather too sharp and large for his child's face, had grown striking in adulthood. He cut a fine figure — his long, sinewy limbs had outgrown their adolescent gangliness and now held grace even in stillness.

Remus loved country dances, and reading, and making lively conversation wherever he could find it. He helped his Uncle with the accounts, though he had no great love for figures and sums. He walked the woods that lay between Longbourn and Godric's Hollow as often as he could manage.

He was, in every regard, a lively, useful and agreeable young man.

None of this, however, could absolve Remus of the iniquitous crime of being rather poor for a gentleman's ward.

Lyall Lupin — who, having worked for a living, was no gentleman himself — had not planned for his own untimely demise, and had, therefore, failed to set aside the sort of money which would allow Remus to make an offer of marriage to any respectable woman — or indeed to receive an offer from a man of good standing.

There was no money for Cambridge, either.

Remus mused that with his meager fortune, there was hardly a man in the world who he could hope to court. He would have to find a pauper — or worse — a woman. Though he held his dear cousin Lily in high esteem and felt for her a great and genuine fondness, Remus knew in his heart of hearts that he could never comfortably be wed to a member of the fairer sex.

And so Remus had made peace with his lot. He would help Mr. Evans manage his estate, and attend dances with his cousins, and find some sort of work, and never marry. He would call on Lily and whichever man she eventually wed as often as he was allowed to. He would read to her children, and take them to the theatre, and the public gardens, and teach them to play their instruments very ill.

He would content himself with this small life, for at least he would have good company, and a roof over his head, and the amusement of his own wit.

But Mrs. Evans was perfectly right — his cousins needed to make good marriages. He shuddered to think of what would happen if they didn't. With Longbourn entailed away from Mr. Evans' children, the prospect of the girls' circumstances after his death loomed heavy over all of them.

Mr. Evans, mercifully, drew his wife's attention away from Remus. "So that is Mr. Potter's design in settling here? To marry one of our daughters?"

"Design! What nonsense. He may well fall in love with one of them, though." Mrs. Evans said. "You must visit him."

"Oh, I see no occasion for that." Mr. Evans replied. "Go yourself with the girls.. or better yet, send them along without you. Handsome as you are, Mr. Potter might like you best of the party."

Mrs. Evans flustered and floundered at her husband, cheeks flushed. Remus shook with silent laughter, and Lily's discreet smile grew wider behind her hand.

"Tell you what, I'll write to this Mr. Potter and tell him that I have four daughters and a male ward, and he may marry any one which he chooses. They're all silly and ignorant like other youths…" Mr. Evans caught Remus' eye, and conceded; "Well, Remus has a touch more wit than the rest."

"Have you no compassion for my poor—"

"—Then again, he may prefer a stupid spouse, as many others have done before him."

"Mr. Evans !"

If Remus didn't wish to avoid the ire of his Aunt, he would have been crying with mirth by now. As it was, Lily pinched him and shot him a stern look. It was only years of practice that allowed Remus to keep his countenance.

"You've no compassion for my nerves, you've no idea what I suffer…"

Mr. Evans gave a wry smirk. "Oh, on the contrary, my dear. Your nerves have been my fondest companion these past twenty years at least."

* * *

That evening, long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, Remus and Lily kept company in the drawing-room together. Remus reclined on the chaise and read aloud from a book of poetry, while Lily took up needlework in the armchair by the fire.

"Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;

And yet methinks I have astronomy,

But not to tell of good or evil luck,

Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons quality;

Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,

Or say with princes if it shall go well,

By oft predict that I in heaven find:

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,

And, constant stars, in them I read such art

As truth and beauty shall together thrive — "

Remus broke off from reading, and mused aloud; "If I could find a man who loved me enough to take me for a mere fifty pounds a year... I should be very well-pleased."

Lily looked up from her needlework and smiled softly. "I would be pleased for you."

Remus continued; "But such a man could hardly be sensible, and you know I could never love a man who was out of his wits."

Lily laughed and shook her head. "A marriage where either partner cannot love or respect the other…that cannot be agreeable."

"As we have daily proof," Remus remarked wryly. He set his book of poems down on a little rosewood side table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hand cradling his jaw as he stared into the fire. "But beggars cannot be choosers, you know. One of us will have to marry very well."

Lily made a small, noncommittal noise and kept her eyes trained on her needlework.

"And seeing as you are five times prettier than the rest of us, and have the sweetest disposition, I fear the task will fall to you."

Lily shook her head, and her mouth twisted in a little half-grimace. She never much liked it when people remarked on her appearance, Remus knew, but it was a hopeless business trying to avoid it. With hair as red as wine, and eyes as green as the forest, and a light, pleasing figure, Lily was, without question, the most famous local beauty in the Hollow.

"But, Remus…" she spoke in a small voice, "I should very much like to marry for love."

"And so you shall!" Remus smiled, walking over to where his cousin sat and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear; "Only, take care you fall in love with a man of good fortune."

Lily's eyes widened in ire and she made to swat him on the shoulder; Remus only laughed, rising to his feet with grace and easily avoiding the blows.

"I swear I'll let you languish in the poor house, even if I do get a rich husband." Lily sniffed.

"Lily-love, do you not remember what Sister Dolores says about telling lies?" Remus teased. "You mustn't, or it'll be the deepest pits of hell for you! And a girl of your complexion would be damned in that heat — you cannot chance it."

Lily was giggling now, "Remus, you cannot say—"

"Why not?" Remus said. "Is Sister Dolores hiding behind that plant there? Or perhaps in the drapes?"

"You are so wicked!" Lily exclaimed. "Really, I wonder that anybody finds you agreeable."

"As far as society is concerned, I am the most agreeable, thanks very much," Remus said. "Only you know what I'm really like, and nobody would believe you if you ever told them. So you see, I feel quite safe from your censure."

" Wicked ," Lily repeated, eyes shining. "And what of your marriage prospects, hmm?"

Remus stilled, amber eyes reflecting the firelight as he stared into the coals. He thought for a long while, chose each word with care, and eventually said; "I am determined… that nothing but the very deepest love will tempt me into matrimony."

Lily gave him the fondest smile, abandoning her needlework in favour of standing to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I think I should be exceedingly happy for you on your wedding day, then. To know that you have found a love like that."

Lily's simple faith in the fact that Remus would find a partner in life was more than enough to tug at his heartstrings. But mixed with the warm feeling of his cousin's support was the faintest pang of sadness.

"I admire your optimism." He said, shifting away from her touch. "Ring the bell for tea, would you?"

"At this hour?" Lily laughed. "Remus, it's nearly midnight! Mrs. Sprout is going to smack you if you drag her out of bed now."

"She would never. She loves me, like all good and sensible people ought to." Remus said, eyes shining with mischief. "But, if you insist, I will leave her resting and bid you goodnight."

"Please."

Remus sighed, smiling as he returned his book to its place on the shelf and crossed over to the door of the drawing-room. "Goodnight, cousin. Dream sweet dreams; the sort that are full to the brim with handsome men of good fortune."

"Shall I dream up one for you too, while I'm at it?"

Remus huffed a small laugh, and slipped upstairs to bed.

* * *

"Good morning, Aunt." Remus said with cheer, taking a seat between Lily and Petunia at the breakfast table. Across from him, Kitty and Lydia were bickering about some monstrously ugly bonnet — a distasteful vision in salmon and peach, complete with frills and at least three superfluous bows. Petunia, who had always been rather drab and dour, pursed her lips at the display.

"My head is very ill today," Mrs. Evans said by way of reply. She beadily eyed her husband, who was sat at the head of the table reading the paper.

"Misfortunes, we are told, are sent to test our fortitude, and may often reveal themselves as blessings in disguise." Petunia said to her mother, in what was evidently intended to be a consoling manner.

"Then I am blessed indeed, what with how I suffer with my nerves!" Mrs. Evans replied sourly, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Lily spoke gently; "Mamma—"

"Oh Remus, wait till you hear our news!" Lydia cut across her, causing some affront, having abandoned her tussle with Kitty over the bonnet. "Kitty and I came across the Vances this morning, and Maria said that Sir William has called on Mr. Potter."

"Indeed?" Remus replied with only mild interest, loading his plate with kippers and toast. "I suppose that is not a surprise."

"Mr. Potter has thirty servants, forty servers, and he's very handsome — Maria said he had black curls and hazel eyes and the most marvellous spectacles."

"Marvellous spectacles?" Remus repeated amusedly. "My, I'm not sure I've ever known the sight of alluring eyewear."

Next to him, Lily snorted into her porridge. Mr. Evans allowed the shadow of a smirk as he kept his eyes trained on the newspaper.

"He declared to Sir William that he loves to dance!" Kitty added. "He's promised to come to the next ball at the assembly rooms — on Saturday."

"So we will all have the opportunity to stand in awe of this gentleman and his spectacles," Remus remarked. "I am most happy to hear it."

"He's bringing six ladies..." Kitty paused for thought. "And four gentlemen, I think."

" No , it was twelve ladies and seven gentlemen!" Lydia argued.

Remus leaned towards Lily and murmured out of the corner of his mouth; "Too many ladies."

Next to him, Petunia scoffed and returned to her breakfast with marked disinterest. Remus knew that she harbored a crush on the overlarge landowner called Dursley that sometimes sat in their pew at church — he was every bit as dull and disagreeable as Petunia. Remus supposed it might make a good match, if only Vernon would consent to accept Petunia's pitiable dowry.

"Oh girls, I beg you would stop, for we are never to know Mr. Potter and it pains me to hear of him!"

"But Mamma—"

"I am sick of Mr. Potter!"

"I am sorry to hear that." Mr. Evans said unexpectedly, eyes never moving from the paper. "If I had known as much this morning, I never would have called on him."

All eyes turned to Mr. Evans, who, sensing this, resigned himself to folding his paper and setting it aside.

"You have called on him?"

"I am afraid we cannot escape the acquaintance now."

Mrs. Evans burst into laughter as close to joyful as Remus had ever heard, her eyes were shining with a kind of manic enthusiasm. "My dear husband, how good you are to us!"

Mr. Evans received this comment with a measure of bemusement. "Yes, well—"

"Oh, girls, girls, is he not a good father? And never to tell us; what a good joke!" At this Remus and Lily exchanged incredulous, significant glances. "Oh, and now you shall all dance with Mr. Potter. You too, Remus!"

Remus blinked, unsurprised but bemused by the development. "Then I hope he has a strong constitution, Aunt."

"And a fondness for silly young women." Mr. Evans added, sending a glance Remus' way.

Mrs. Evans was incandescently happy. "Oh, Mr. Evans, nothing you say shall ever vex me again!"

Mr. Evans picked his paper up again, unfolding it rifling through the pages to where he hard marked his spot.

"I am sorry to hear it."


	2. The Assembly

**_Chapter Two_**

That Saturday saw the Assembly rooms of Godric's Hollow full to the brim with nearly every half-respectable family in the region. News had spread, it seemed, of this mysterious Mr. Potter and his vast fortune.

Lively music, befitting a country dance, was being played from the musician's gallery. One room over, Mr. Evans was playing cards with Sir William Vance, while Mrs. Evans was taking refreshments with Mr. Lovegood. Petunia was sat in a chair in the corner of the ballroom, glowering at the dancers with ill-concealed distaste, while Kitty and Lydia had summoned some gentlemen to dance when they first arrived, and had hardly paused for breath since then.

Remus and Lily stood up together a couple of times — they danced the scotch reel and the cotillion, but eventually abandoned dancing in favour of making cheerful conversation with Miss Emmeline Vance, who was their particular friend.

"You look very well tonight, Miss Lily." Emmeline remarked. "Both of your look rather fine, actually."

Lily wore a dress of pale green cotton, cinched in under the bust and overlaid with chiffon that floated softly to her slippered feet. Her hair had been done up with elegance, the front set in copper curls that framed her heart-shaped face beautifully.

In observing his cousin's loveliness, Remus vaguely wished that he was inclined towards women — he would have married Lily, if so, for she was so good and kind and beautiful. As it was, he felt nothing beyond a powerful fondness.

He really was the queerest of the queers.

For his part, Remus was wearing a shirt of white muslin, a brown waistcoat and dark green tails. His comfortable buckskins had been swapped in favour of breeches, which Lily herself had tailored to fit his lithe figure. His hair — which was a half-shade too dark to be called fair — had been growing out, and he had not taken the liberty of cutting it, so it fell in wayward waves across his forehead.

He supposed he looked about as well as he ever did.

"Thank you, Miss Emmeline, I mostly credit the fact that I am so determined to avoid the barber. These locks deserve to be preserved, you will no doubt agree."

Lily and Emmeline laughed.

"Yes, a terribly noble cause."

"Nobler than our fight against the French, I daresay." Remus volleyed. "Am I to understand that we will soon be hosting a Militia in the Hollow?"

"In two weeks, I believe." Emmeline confirmed. "Father had it from—"

But their attention was called away — the dancers, who had been clapping following the end of the latest song, had all faltered unexpectedly. The room went quiet with whispers and low utterances.

Remus cast his gaze around for the source of the disturbance.

Ah, there!

A party had entered the ballroom, and Remus knew at once that this must be the new tenant of Peverell House and his friends.

The gentleman in thick black spectacles was undoubtedly Mr. Potter — he had wild hair, and wore fine clothes; a waistcoat and tails in two shades of crimson, his wrists and collar embroidered with pale gold thread.

He had an agreeable, smiling face, and greeted Sir William Vance with no small measure of genuine enthusiasm.

His companions, however, seemed less well-pleased to be there.

The two ladies contrasted starkly in everything except manner — while one was tall and dark, and the other fair and rather short, they both wore identical expressions of disdain as they surveyed the Assembly. Their clothes were as fine as Remus had ever seen, silk brocade fabric tailored within an inch of its life, showing their figures to best advantage.

Remus immediately disliked them.

"They seem rather well-pleased with themselves, don't they?" He remarked. "And rather less pleased with what they see."

"Remus," Lily chided, "I am sure they are perfectly amiable once you make their acquaintance. That gentleman Potter looks to have happy manners, at least."

Remus nodded in his agreement, but was distracted from responding by the appearance of a second gentleman.

He was a study in grey. Light grey for the waistcoat, dark grey for the tails and breeches, shining, polished black for the boots. Where his companion was threaded with gold, this gentleman had opted for muted silver. His blue-grey cravat was tied low and neatly, showing his neck and Adam's apple rather more than was typical. His black hair fell to almost his shoulders in inky waves, and Remus thought it rather strange that he had not taken the liberty of tying it back.

Remus could not quite make out his eyes at this distance, but he thought they might be light blue. The face they were set in was undoubtedly handsome, but the man himself had such an air of haughtiness that Remus could not quite bring himself to think so.

As if sensing Remus' eyes on him, the gentleman turned to face him from across the Assembly room.

Cool gaze assessing Remus for a moment, he then scoffed — scoffed — in his indifference, and turned to engage the dark-haired lady in conversation.

Remus let out a short laugh of disbelief. "Well!"

"What is it, Lupin?" Emmeline asked.

"I've been snubbed with a look , can you believe, by that tall gentleman, there," Remus said, nodding towards the fellow in grey. "How arrogant he must be. And a little vain, too, I'd wager."

"You've not spoken a single word to any one of them yet!" Lily protested, looping her arm through his as she pulled them towards Mr. and Mrs. Evans, who were summoning them to make the acquaintance of the new arrivals. " Behave , Remus."

Remus rolled his eyes, but acquiesced with good humour. "Lily-love, I always behave."

Lily shot him a look that plainly said 'if only' , before turning her attention to the party in front of them.

"Ah, splendid!" Sir William Vance exclaimed upon their approach. "Now, Mr. Potter, I have the pleasure of introducing my eldest daughter, Miss Emmeline. My other daughter, Mariah, is playing cards at present. And this here is Miss Lily Evans, I think your younger sisters are dancing, yes?" Lily smiled obligingly and nodded at Sir William, "Very good, we can make their acquaintance later. And, of course, this is Mr Remus Lupin."

Remus did not think he was alone in noticing how avidly Mr. Potter's gaze was fixed on Lily, nor how she blushed prettily in response, if the dark look of the ladies to Mr. Potter's right where anything to go by. In his periphery, he saw Mrs. Evans' expression of manic triumph.

"And of course this is Mr. Potter, who has just let Peverell House, and his friend Mr. Black," Sir William indicated the gentleman in grey, "And here is Miss McKinnon," he indicated the dark-haired girl, "And her companion, Miss Meadowes," that was the small blonde girl.

They all bowed and curtsied in turn, murmuring that it was a pleasure to make each other's acquaintance, delighted, delighted, and so on and so forth. Mr. Black only bowed stiffly, and did not bother to utter a word of greeting to any one of them. Though civil, Remus found Miss McKinnon's manners to be cold and superior, and her friend Miss Meadowes was little better.

"I say, this seems a delightful Assembly." Potter said enthusiastically, hazel eyes crinkling as he smiled. "I think I should never tire of the country, it is terribly charming, and the society is as agreeable as I have ever known."

Remus was not imagining it — Potter looked directly at Lily as he spoke.

"Indeed it is, sir." Mrs. Evans hurried to agree. "I always thought that the Hollow must be the best place in all of England, and full of the best people, beside."

"If I may, Miss Lily," Potter said, a nervous smile gracing his features, "That is, erm, if you are not otherwise engaged… may I be so bold as to claim the next two dances?"

Remus was pleased to see how Potter bumbled through in his request — it was a case of nerves that convinced Remus at once of Mr. Potter's genuineness.

For her part, Lily's bright green eyes sparkled as she demurely replied; "I am not engaged, sir."

Mr. Potter's eyes brightened and relief flooded his face. "Oh, good. That is, erm — "

" You are too kind, sir! Oh, thank the gentleman, Lily!" Mrs. Evans crowed, and Remus felt his stomach drop at her impropriety.

Remus saw, quite plainly, the way that Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes caught each other's eye in a sly, sardonic glance. Remus thought Mr. Black might have actually rolled his eyes.

"Auntie— " Remus said, "Might we find some refreshments? I am sure that Mr. Potter and his friends have a great many people to acquaint themselves with before the dancing begins in earnest."

"Oh, well, yes, of course — "

* * *

For the most part, Remus did a reasonable job of keeping his aunt from the delegation of newcomers.

Mrs. Evans was now happy settled next to Mr. Lovegood and Ms. Trelawney, trading what gossip they had accrued between them so far. Remus sat beside them, allowing himself a brief reprieve from the revelry of the night.

"Have you heard about Mr. Black?" Ms. Trelawney said in her low, misty voice, leaning forward to address the other two. "He is Potter's oldest friend, and he has a mighty fortune, and a great estate just outside of Hogsmeade, that pretty spot up in the Lakes District, you know."

"Is that so?"

"He has ten-thousand pounds a year, at least ." Trelawney said significantly, and Mrs. Evans and Mr. Lovegood both gasped in shock.

"And to be so handsome, too!" Mrs. Evans quickly said. "Goodness, to think that two such eligible and amiable gentlemen have come to town at once!"

Remus could not help but scoff.

Amiable, indeed! He thought darkly, as he spied Mr. Black standing sullenly by the mantel one room over. I am sure I have met porcupines less spiky.

"He is generally inclined towards men," Lovegood added. "I had it from Miss Meadowes directly."

"Oh, well, that is a shame." Mrs. Evans lamented. "Though perhaps Remus might —"

Remus stood, and abandoned his post in favour of seeking out Emmeline. He had no desire to be thrown at Mr. Black like some prized piece of livestock, and had no intention of letting Mrs. Evans try.

* * *

As the time drew near for Lily to stand up with Mr. Potter, Remus found himself in the couple's company, alongside the Evanses, the Vances, Miss McKinnon, Miss Meadowes, and, regrettably, Mr. Black.

"You are very welcome to the Hollow, sir," Mrs. Evans made a valiant stab at conversation with Black, who looked most displeased at being engaged in conversation. "I hope you have come here eager to dance, as your friend has?"

"I rarely dance." Mr. Black replied shortly.

Not to be deterred, Mrs. Evans pressed on. "Well, let this be one of the occasions, sir. For I wager you'll not easily find such lively music, or such handsome partners."

Remus cringed inwardly as Mrs. Evans made significant eyes at him.

Black bowed stiffly, and walked away.

Potter looked highly embarrassed at his friend's rude departure. "Erm, forgive me, Ma'am, but Miss Lily and I must take our leave, for the dance…"

He swept Lily away, who looked highly relieved to be able to avoid her mother's inevitable explosion. Miss McKinnon had consented to stand up with Mr. Vance, and followed in Potter's wake. Miss Meadowes peeled off, too, though Remus knew not where.

"Well! Did you ever meet such a proud, disagreeable man?"

Emmeline's eyes widened at the outburst, though it was hardly an uncommon occurrence at this point. Black was not yet far away, and Remus feared he was still in earshot.

"Auntie, he will hear you." Remus said lowly, placing a steadying hand on her forearm.

"I don't care if he does!" Mrs. Evans huffed. "And his friend disposed to be so agreeable, and everything charming. Who is he to think himself so far above his company?"

Black did not seem to be able to hear, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, the very rich can afford to give offense wherever they go." Remus said. "We need not care for his good opinion."

"No, indeed!" Mrs. Evans agreed fervently. "His opinion is nothing at all to us, nothing ."

"Perhaps…" Remus' lips pressed together in an effort to conceal his grin. "Perhaps, he's not so very handsome after all?"

"No, indeed!" Mrs. Evans said. "Quite ill-favoured."

* * *

Remus was sitting alongside a dour Petunia, watching Lily dance with one of the local boys — a Prewett, though he could not tell which one.

It was then that he heard Potter's voice cutting through the cacophonous Assembly.

"She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld —"

"If you could get ahold of yourself for just a moment, James—" Black said crossly, "—I would remind you that, in society such as this, it is impolitic to lose your head over the first pretty girl you meet."

Potter and Black were standing a few feet back; Black as sullen as can be, and Potter as light as air. Remus kept his eyes forward, but couldn't help but grin at the awe and delight in Potter's voice.

Remus observed covertly as Potter stared at Lily dancing with a wholly rapturous expression — the sort that was reminiscent of a child on Christmas morning.

"She's perfect." He breathed, and then, seeming to notice the boy that Lily was partnered with, asked; "You don't think anybody has a prior claim on her, do you?"

"I hardly know how to answer that, as I am not well-acquainted with the eldest Miss Evans."

"I think I should die if it were so." Potter lamented, leaning slightly into his friend's shoulder. "But come, now, Sirius. I must have you dance."

"No."

"I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner!"

It took everything in Remus not to laugh at that. He coughed into his hand, face splitting in a grin. Black did not seem to notice him, but the cough had drawn Potter's gaze.

"Look, look…" Potter ushered softly, and Remus stiffened, because he felt sure that the gentlemen were looking at him, now. He could feel his neck prickling with the heat of Black's gaze on him. "There's that Lupin fellow. He's Miss Lily's cousin; she spoke highly of him when we danced — apparently, he's something of a wit. He's very handsome, too, and I daresay, very agreeable."

Remus did not allow himself to look backwards at Black, but the man's curt response carried to his ears just fine, all the same.

"He is tolerable, I suppose, but he is not handsome enough to tempt me."

At that, Remus did turn, unable to do anything other than gape openly at this abominably rude, insufferable —

"Potter, I am in no humour to give consequence to village boys who are slighted by other men." Black said crossly. "Go back to your girl, enjoy her smiles. You're wasting your time with me."

Village boy! Remus felt his face split into an incredulous grin. Good lord in heaven, the arrogance of this man!

It was almost too good to be true. What a subject! Remus knew already that he would spend the duration of his acquaintance with Black making the most terrific fun of him.

What good sport the pompous prat will make!

Remus rose steadily from his chair and breezed past Black, unable to stifle his grin. He barely made it over to where Emmeline was standing before he burst into laughter.

Lowly, he related the events to her, breaking off in giggles as he did. Emmeline chuckled at the tale.

In a moment of acute wickedness, Remus actually imitated Black, stiffening in posture and dropping his voice two octaves; "He is tolerable , I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me ."

Emmeline laughed so hard, she begged him to stop, for tears were streaming down her face.

All the while, Black stared at Remus from across the Assembly in utter disbelief. His eyes — grey, almost silver — were wide with confusion. He frowned at Remus, as if trying to figure him out.

Relishing his confusion, Remus cheerfully asked Emmeline to dance the next, and thought no more of Mr. Black that night.


	3. Fine Eyes

_**Chapter Three**_

Following their debut at the Assembly, James, Sirius, Miss McKinnon, and Miss Meadowes retired to the drawing-room at Peverell House.

Miss McKinnon sat with impeccable posture, her eyes fixed on Sirius as he stalked over to the window and stared out into the night. Her interest in him had quite escaped his notice — for Miss McKinnon surely knew that he resolutely preferred the company of men.

"Could none of the famous beauties of Godric's Hollow please you, Mr. Black?" Miss McKinnon asked.

Miss Meadowes chimed in; "Not even the famous Mr. Lupin?"

The two ladies chuckled and Miss Meadowes settled down next to her friend. They stared expectantly at Sirius, who made no reply.

"Well, I never met with prettier people in my life." James declared, flinging himself onto the chaise heavily, a slightly punch-drunk grin on his face.

"Potter, you astonish me." Sirius sniffed. "I saw little beauty, and no breeding at all."

Miss McKinnon bore a triumphant grin.

"The eldest Miss Evans is, I grant you, somewhat pretty."

"She's an angel!" James exclaimed, outraged. "Somewhat pretty — I wonder that you weren't dropped on your head as a babe, sometimes."

Sirius shrugged. "She smiles too much."

"Oh, come now Mr. Black, Miss Lily is a sweet girl." Miss McKinnon said teasingly. "But her mother! What crass manners!"

James huffed, discomforted, but did not seem to be able to find any argument against this claim.

"I heard Remus Lupin described as a famous local beauty. Why, the Prewetts would not let up about his charms."

"The way they told it, he has eyes as bright as lanterns, and hair as fine as spun silk, and all the grace of a faerie's child." Miss Meadowes said. "I confess I was quite underwhelmed, upon making his acquaintance."

"What say you, Mr. Black?" Miss McKinnon pressed. "Is Remus Lupin a beauty?"

Sirius huffed. "I should as soon call his Aunt a wit."

Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes burst into cackles, whereas James merely looked discomforted.

"You are too cruel!" Miss McKinnon exclaimed, tears of laughter gathering in the corners of her dark eyes.

"I found his manners far too casual." Sirius was not sure where the words came from, but he scarcely felt able to stop them. "And he laughed a great deal, you know. At others. With others. I did not like it."

"Oh, heavens, not laughter!" James strode over to Sirius' place by the window. "I shall never understand why you go through the world determined to be displeased with everything and everyone in it."

Sirius huffed. "And I will never understand why you are in such a rage to approve of everything and everyone that you meet, Prongs."

The corner of James' mouth lifted at the nickname — an old habit of tongue left over from their time together at Cambridge, and a reminder that, no matter the harshness of his words, Sirius was still his friend. "Well, you shall not make me think ill of Miss Lily, Padfoot."

"Indeed, he shall not." Miss McKinnon said. "I shall dare his disapproval, and declare that she is a dear, sweet girl, despite her unfortunate relations, and I should not be sorry to know her better."

"No, no, nor I." Miss Meadowes grinned. "You see, Mr. Black? We are not afraid of you."

Sirius obliged his friends with a small smile. "I would not have you so."

* * *

If there was any triumph to be had in Mr. Black's refusal to stand up with Remus — aside from the enjoyment he derived from mocking it — it was that Mrs. Evans had abandoned any plans she might have had to push the two of them together.

Indeed, she could not bear to hear anything even halfway-positive about the gentleman — such was Mrs. Evans' hatred. She had been discussing Mr. Black's vices, at length, over breakfast the morning after the Assembly.

"—And he slighted our poor Remus, you know." She said to Mr. Evans. "Flatly refused to stand up with him."

Mr. Evans looked up from his paper. "Slighted our Remus, eh?"

"I didn't care for him either, Uncle." Remus said. "So it is of little consequence."

"Another time, Remus, I would not dance with him if he should ask you!" Mrs. Evans said hotly. "So proud, so disagreeable —"

"I believe, Auntie," Remus cut across Mrs. Evans, sensing a rant coming. "That I may safely promise that I will never dance with Mr. Black."

Mrs. Evans seemed to accept this, and for a moment settled into her chair with an air of calm rarely seen. Her eyes, then, cast over Lily, who was sipping tea with a faraway expression on her face.

"Do you know, husband, that Mr. Potter favoured our Lily over every other girl?" Mrs Evans said.

"Did he?"

"Yes, indeed! For he danced the first two with her, and then the next with Emmeline Vance, which vexed me greatly. But, lo, there the very next, nothing would please him but to stand up with Lily again." Mrs. Evans paused to sip her tea. For a moment, Mr. Evans seemed to hold hope that Mrs. Evans had finished in her conversation, but she quickly charged on. "And then, you know, he danced with Kitty, and Remus after that, which was kind, as he does not often stand up with gentlemen. And then, what do you think he did next?"

"Enough, enough Madam!" Mr. Evans groaned, rubbing his face wearily. "Let us hear no more of his partners. Would he have sprained his ankle in the first dance!"

But Mrs. Evans had already built up plenty of steam. "Oh, and the ladies he brought with him! So charming! So elegant and obliging! Oh, I wish you could have seen them. I daresay the lace on Miss McKinnon's gown alone…"

"No lace, no lace! Mrs. Evans. I beg you."

* * *

Later that day, Remus and Lily found themselves in the kitchen garden, picking herbs for Mrs. Sprout.

"I think I should like to walk in the woods today." Remus said. "The weather is fine."

"Mmm." Lily replied absently, plucking a sprig of thyme and twirling it between her fingers.

"Ever since you met that Mr. Potter, your head has been in the clouds," Remus said with good humour. "Am I to expect that he shall become some sort of brother-in-law? I know we are only cousins, but truly, I have always felt in my heart that you are my sister."

Lily blushed. "My acquaintance with Mr. Potter has been short, though enjoyable. I beg you not to speak of marriage!"

Remus chuckled.

"And you are my brother." Lily added. "Anybody who contradicts me on that score will find me to be very cross indeed."

"You're rather frightening when you're cross, you know."

"I suppose it's a good thing it doesn't happen often, then."

It was true enough. Lily's disposition was naturally sweet, and there were only a few times in Remus' memory that he could recall Lily getting very angry. Each of those occasions, however, had been terrifying displays.

Having been drawn into conversation, Lily was forced to concede that Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes were not well-mannered, though she made a point of insisting that they were charming upon closer acquaintance. Lily then confided in Remus her surprise that Potter danced with her so much.

"I've no idea why — "

"Do you really have no idea of how pretty you are?" Remus asked, watching in amusement as Lily blushed. "Oh, what a curse! To be so lovely and yet so unaware of it — s uch torturous modesty!"

Lily shoved him. "Shut up, you wicked man!"

"You poor creature — so admired wherever you go, but doomed to see no beauty in the mirror! The very antithesis of Narcissus! "

Lily could not hold back her laughter. "I beg you, stop teasing me! Else I will drop all my clippings from laughing!"

Remus grinned. "Oh, us village boys cannot help ourselves. We tease mercilessly."

"It was wrong of Mr. Black to say that of you." Lily conceded. "I can only think that he might have misspoke —"

Remus laughed. "Oh, my Lily-love. I think he said exactly what he meant to." He glanced at her. "I hope you know — Mr. Black's rudeness does not at all affect my good opinion of Mr. Potter. I found him to be very amiable."

He knew very well that his cousin had taken to Mr. Potter. Lily was always composed, but Remus knew her well enough to see the signs. Her faraway spells, her blushes, the gentle tenor of her voice when she spoke his name aloud… Yes, Remus thought that Lily might be halfway in love with Mr. Potter already.

Which he supposed was fine, provided that Mr. Potter felt the same way. Remus would have to ensure his intentions where honorable.

Lily bit her lower lip. "He is just what a young man ought to be, Remus. Sensible, lively…and I never saw such happy manners."

"Handsome too, which a young man ought to be if he possibly can." Remus quipped. "And he seems to like you very much, which shows good judgment. No, I give you leave to like him. You've had many a stupider suitor. Prewett, Rosier, Snape ..."

Lily giggled. "I beg you not to speak of that! Severus only had a little crush."

" Severus would have razed cities to the ground for your hand in marriage." Remus said flatly. "I can only say I am pleased that the war effort in France took him away before he could force the matter."

"Severus was not wholly bad, Remus…"

"But no fit husband for you."

Lily worried her bottom lip further, and replied quietly; "No. He was not."

Remus left it at that; and they continued their gardening in companionable silence

* * *

Some weeks later had seen Lily develop a closer acquaintance with Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes, who, for their part, seemed to have grown fond of Lily's company.

Remus could not pretend to understand what enjoyment Lily got from her visits to Peverell House for tea — more often than not, Mr. Potter was not even there.

Indeed, Remus rather had the impression that the ladies were organising events for times that they knew Potter would be otherwise engaged. The first time that Lily had visited, Potter had been out hunting with Mr. Black, which seemed innocuous enough. The second time, however, he had been called into town on business and was not due to return until the following day — which Miss McKinnon surely knew when she had written to Lily. The third time coincided with Mr. Potter's regular appointment with his custodian, and he was obliged to take a long tour of the grounds surrounding Peverell House. As Remus understood it, Potter had not returned until quite late in the evening.

But the suitor dry-spell, as Remus had been calling it, was destined to be broken eventually.

Relief came in the form of an invitation from Sir William Vance. He announced that he would be hosting a small party at Vance Lodge, to introduce the Colonel heading up the newly-arrived militia to Godric's Hollow's social scene. Both Lily and Mr. Potter were set to attend.

So too, was Mr. Black.

Remus had to admit that he found himself surprised that Black would willingly inflict himself upon such an occasion. His refusal to dance with anyone not rich and well-bred had prompted a wave of animosity among the townspeople — t he likes of which Remus had never seen before. Conversely, it seemed that everybody was in agreement about Mr. Potter's good nature, and popular opinion was that he had simply been imposed upon by the disagreeable Mr. Black.

"I do believe your cousin is in love."

Remus smiled at Emmeline as she took the seat beside him. He cast a glance across the room, where Lily was talking earnestly with Mr. Potter. "Yes, I think she might be."

"Do you think he can tell, though?" Emmeline asked. "I imagine we only have some idea of it because we are so intimately acquainted with Lily. She is so reserved, in her way."

"Yes." Remus said mildly. "But I do not see why she should rush to reassure Potter — it would be better for her to wait until she is sure of her own feelings."

"I fear I must disagree." Emmeline said. "For happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, you know. There will always be vexation, and grief; and it is better to know in advance as little as possible of the defects of your marriage partner."

Remus scoffed. "Emmeline!"

Emmeline tilted her head to one side. "What? Is it not so?"

"Surely you would never act like that yourself."

"Well, it seems that Lily will not. So we must hope that Mr. Potter will. Though I think he gets little encouragement from his friends."

Emmeline glanced significantly over at Miss McKinnon, Miss Meadowes, and Mr. Black, who were all stood milling about by the refreshments. Mr. Black, it seemed, noticed them, and stared straight at Remus.

Remus narrowed his eyes at the man.

Emmeline glanced between them. "Mr. Black looks at you a great deal."

"I cannot think why." Remus said, frowning, and turned away from Mr. Black's silver gaze. "Perhaps he means to frighten me with his contempt."

Emmeline shrugged, unconvinced. "As you say."

Remus felt a prickling discomfort, and found himself unable to hold back his complaints about Mr. Black; he burst; "I wish he would not come into society! He only makes people uneasy."

Emmeline laughed, but broke off when she caught sight of Lydia dancing wildly across the room. Discreetly, she pointed the potential spectacle out to Remus.

He groaned. "I'd better go speak to my cousin before she exposes us all to ridicule."

* * *

Sirius had been entrapped.

He had only meant to stretch his legs a little — standing by the refreshments without purpose was so tiresome, and he wished he could just go back to Peverell House and read in peace, and Godric's Hollow was just so generally awful and why, why had he allowed James to convince him to come here in the first place? — when he had happened across none other than Sir William Vance.

The gentleman had pounced on him immediately. Such was the danger of striking out on one's own in society such as this.

Country dances, I swear if ever I were King my first act would be to do away with **bloody **country dances—

"What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Black. Nothing like dancing, you know. One of the refinements of every polished society."

Sirius could not help himself; he bit out; "And every unpolished society."

"Sorry?"

Sirius shrugged stiffly. "Every savage can dance."

Sir William seemed flustered by this, and Sirius was tempted to walk away. It would be rude, however, and James had made him promise not to pull something like that again — he had been as close to furious as James could after his antisocial behaviour at the Assembly hall.

"Oh, yes…yes, quite."

Sirius felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw Remus Lupin passing by. He looked much the same as last time Sirius had seen him — simple clothes, gunmetal-gold curls and those sharp, almost predatory amber eyes.

Sirius had found himself thinking of those eyes at inconvenient times, of late. He frowned, displeased at his own lack of self-control.

It seemed that Sir William had also caught sight of Lupin, and seemed eager to use this fact to distract from their awkward and floundering interaction.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin! Why are you not dancing? Mr. Black, allow me to present this young gentleman to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I'm sure, when so much handsomeness is before you."

Remus Lupin stared coldly at Sirius, and Sirius felt a sharp pang in his chest at that. For you see, Lupin was becoming an object of some interest in Sirius' eyes.

He had at first scarcely allowed Remus to be good-looking, and regarded Lupin without admiration at the Assembly. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that Lupin had hardly a good feature in his face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of his strange eyes.

To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in his form, he was forced to acknowledge Lupin's figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that his manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness.

Of this, it seemed, Lupin was perfectly unaware — to him, Sirius was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought him handsome enough to dance with.

When Remus Lupin spoke, his voice was cold and flat; "I have not the least intention of dancing. Please don't suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner."

Sirius spoke quickly, attempting to outrun his own good sense, for he knew that Lupin was not a suitable match, but he couldn't quite help wanting to know him better.

"I would be very happy if you would do me the honour of dancing with me, Mr. Lupin."

The boy's amber eyes seemed ablaze, and Sirius had the vague sense that Lupin was angry. "Thank you, but excuse me, I am not inclined to dance."

"Come, come, why not?" Sir William protested good-naturedly. "When you see Mr. Black has no objection, although he dislikes the amusement so much in general."

A hard edge crept into Lupin's voice; "Mr. Black is all politeness."

If Sirius had not been such a master of composure, he would have visibly winced at that.

"He is. He is." Sir William said agreeably, with no awareness of Lupin's bald facetiousness. "And why should he not be, considering the inducement? For who could object to such a partner? Eh, Black?"

Lupin's eyes darted between Sirius and Sir William. "I beg you would excuse me."

Remus bowed stiffly, and strode away with purpose. Sirius had not even sunk halfway into his own replying bow before the man had gone.

As Sir William made his excuses and went in search of another social victim, Sirius merely stared at the retreating figure of Remus Lupin.

He was vaguely aware of Miss McKinnon coming up beside him. She leaned up to whisper in his ear; "I believe I can guess your thoughts at this moment."

Sirius resisted the urge to scoff, eyes never wavering from the maddening figure of Remus Lupin. "I should imagine not."

"You are thinking how insupportable it would be to spend many evenings in such tedious company."

"No, indeed, my mind was more agreeably engaged." Sirius' voice sounded almost hoarse to his own ears. "I've been meditating on the very great pleasure, which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a handsome man can bestow."

Miss McKinnon's tone was a touch frosty when next she spoke; "And may one dare ask whose are the eyes that inspired these reflections?"

Sirius saw no good reason to lie. "Mr. Remus Lupin's."

"Mr. Remus Lupin." Miss McKinnon repeated faintly. She chuckled somewhat, then stepped back slowly, surprised. "I am all astonishment."

As am I. Sirius felt like saying, as he continued to stare over at where the man himself was laughing with some officer, his amber-honey eyes sparkling with mirth and life.

What Sirius wouldn't give to have Lupin laugh with him like that.

* * *

**A/N:** I pulled one of my favourite quotes from the novel for adaptation and use in this chapter; the original phrasing is as follows; "Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty: he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware: to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with."

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	4. Lily Takes Ill

Remus felt sure that he would rue the day that the Militia first arrived in Godric's Hollow, for he had never seen Lydia in such a state before.

"Diggory was so _beautiful!_ Did you _see_, mama? And he's an _officer__—_"

Of course Remus was under no allusions — Lydia had always been uncommonly silly; a wild girl, bereft of propriety and composure. Remus felt sure that she could not have been more different to Lily if she had tried. Remus would not have thought it possible for Lydia to get worse if he wasn't currently seeing the evidence with his own two eyes. The girl had barely paused for breath since her morning sojourn into town; cheeks red and eyes shining with a rabid sort of excitement that begat a burrowing uneasiness in the pit of Remus' stomach.

Mrs. Evans sighed. "I do love a man in regimentals."

Kitty giggled. Mr. Evans rolled his eyes from behind his paper.

Lydia carried on avidly — "And there was this other man! This Mr. Crouch. He spoke very fine, I must say, and struck a handsome figure too. Diggory called him Barty Jr."

Remus looked up from buttering his toast. "I hope _you_ did not call him that."

Lydia scoffed. "Oh, nobody cares about that sort of thing anymore, Remus!"

"It will not do for you to go around being overfamiliar with every officer in the Hollow, Lydia. People will _talk_." Remus said, a little sharply. His knife clattered to his plate.

"Let them! What do I care what old bores and gossips say—"

Remus was saved further argument by the arrival of the post. Mr. Filch, the family's only manservant, carried it in hand. His cat, an evil, brush-tailed, lantern-eyed thing, slunk in her master's wake. Remus spared the creature a mistrustful glance — it had taken to following him around, as if monitoring him for wrongdoing, ever since he had first come to Longbourn.

"Thank you, Filch." Mr. Evans said to their sour-faced manservant, who was then promptly dismissed. He flipped through the pile of letters, setting two or three aside for himself, and then handing the last to Lily. "For you, my dear. From Peverell House."

Lily reached out to take her letter, but was roughly intercepted by the clawing hand of Mrs. Evans, who tore it open with swift ferocity. Her beady little eyes darted back and forth as she read rapidly.

Lily shot her a look of exasperation, but made no attempt to retrieve the letter. She knew well enough that it would be futile to try.

Mrs. Evans tutted. "Oh, it's only from Miss McKinnon… Still, I suppose that's a good sign."

"Mother, please give me my letter."

Mrs. Evans waved off Lily's weak protests, and instead began to read the letter aloud; "_'My dear friend, dine with me and Miss Meadowes today…'_ hmm, la de da, la de da… _'as the gentlemen will be dining with the officers.'_ Oh, how unlucky!"

_Unlucky indeed_, Remus thought darkly. He was now quite certain that Miss McKinnon was keeping Lily from Mr. Potter on purpose. Of course, Lily had refused to believe it when he had related his suspicions.

"May I have the carriage, father?" Lily asked.

"The carriage?" Mrs. Evans repeated. "No indeed! You must go on horseback, Lily, for it looks like rain. Then you will have to stay the night."

Lily gaped at her mother in astonishment. "Mother!"

Remus started to protest; "Aunt, you can't honestly mean to make Lily—"

"Would you really go all the way to Peverell House and not see Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Evans said. "You will go on Buckbeak — Remus has no need of him today."

Lily looked first to her father, and then to Remus for help. Mr. Evans avoided Lily's gaze, staring out the window at the grey and dreary weather. Remus only shrugged helplessly at his cousin.

* * *

It was with no small measure of chagrin that Remus helped Lily to saddle Buckbeack — who was _his_ horse, after all — for her journey to Peverell House.

Thunder rolled ominously overhead. Lily's brows drew together in alarm. Remus sighed heavily.

Buckbeak was decidedly calm about the whole situation; he merely scratched at the earth with his hoof.

"You don't have to go," Remus said to Lily quietly. "You could just write and say you've got a headcold. Or even just _threaten_ to stay home — Auntie would let you call the carriage if she thought you were to miss out altogether."

"I cannot threaten mother, Remus," Lily said miserably, looking as though she very much wished she could. "It will only make her distraught — and you know how she gets with her nerves."

Remus snorted. "Yes, her bloody nerves will be the death of us all."

Lily offered a small smile. "See you tomorrow, cousin."

"Be careful not to catch your death." Remus smiled back, helping Lily up into the saddle. "And take good care of Buckbeak for me."

"I will."

* * *

"Well, my dear, if Lily should die of this fever, it will be comforting to know that it was all in the pursuit of Mr. Potter, and under your orders."

Remus frowned at his uncle. News had come early that morning — Lily had taken ill at dinner with Miss McKinnon and had been forced to remain at Peverell Park as an invalid. It had been the weather, Miss McKinnon had written, as Lily had gotten caught in a downpour on the way over.

"Oh, nonsense! People do not die of trifling little colds. She will be very well taken care of."

Remus glowered at his aunt and stood abruptly from his seat at the breakfast table. "I'm going to Peverell House."

"Going to Peverell House?" Mrs. Evans repeated. "No, there is no need for that. Lily is very well where she is, and we all know there is nothing for _you_ there. You had much better go into the Hollow with your cousins and meet the officers, Remus!"

"Aye, Remus, for there are more than enough to go around." Lydia giggled.

Remus resolutely ignored his cousin and his aunt, and instead spoke directly to Mr. Evans.

"Uncle, you know that Lily would wish me to come."

Mr. Evans sighed. "I suppose that is a hint for me to send for the carriage."

Remus scoffed. "Please. I will walk."

"Walk?" Mrs. Evans squawked.

Remus raised his eyebrows slightly. "It is barely three miles to Peverell House, and I'll be back before dinner."

"_Three miles_ in all that dirt? You'll not be fit to be seen!" Mrs. Evans protested.

"I shall be fit to see Lily, which is all I want." Remus walked to the door, ignoring the movement that Mrs. Evans made to head him off. "You will not dissuade me, Aunt."

"Lydia and I can set you as far as the Hollow." Kitty offered. "Then you shall not have to walk so far."

"Aye, let us call on Diggory early, before he is dressed. What a shock he will get!"

Kitty burst into giggles at Lydia's lascivious expression. Remus frowned at the pair.

Mr. Evans regarded them with no small measure of bemusement. "Our life holds few distinctions, Mrs. Evans, but I think that we may safely boast that here sit two of the silliest girls in all England."

* * *

The walk from the Hollow to Peverell was good for clearing Remus' head. The earth was still muddy from yesterday's rain, but the sun was bright and the birds were singing and the countryside was a fresh, verdant green.

Remus inhaled sharply, and breathed deep the scent of harebell and kingcup and foxglove.

He climbed over a stile and hopped down into a patch of mud. Grimacing, he pulled his feet free and trudged forward — there was nothing for it now, his boots were well and truly muddied. Splatter marks had reached his buckskins, too, right up to the knee at least.

When at last he rounded the corner towards Peverell House, he found himself facing Mr. Black, quite unexpectedly.

Black blinked at him, an expression of surprise overtaking features that Remus was accustomed to seeing drawn and sullen. "Mr. Lupin."

Remus inched his head stiffly. "Mr. Black."

He glanced at Black, who was in as casual dress as Remus had ever seen. Some feet away were a couple of hunting dogs; one black with shaggy hair, and the other a spotted brown-and-white.

"I am just exercising the dogs," Black said, somewhat redundantly. "Snuffles is very attached to me, you see, so he won't let the kennel-master… he— Well, I take him with me everywhere nowadays, anyway."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Snuffles?"

"My brother Regulus named him. As a child." Black said quickly, looking almost flustered to Remus' eyes. "He's the black one. The other belongs to James, Snitch is his name."

"Snitch is nearly as queer a name as Snuffles," Remus remarked. "But only nearly."

"I suppose it is fitting then, queer names…" Black seemed to struggle for a moment. "Because I'm… you know."

Remus' eyebrows raised even higher. "Queer?"

Black flushed — presumably annoyed at getting caught in conversation with someone so lowborn, Remus thought. "Yes."

"Right, well…"

"Are you?" Black asked abruptly, causing Remus to stare.

_What on earth could he mean by asking that? Is the pompous prat worried that I'm the sort of sword-swallower that would fall in love with the first rich bloke he came across? Is he actually fool enough to worry that I would be interested in him?_

The thought ruffled Remus. After a heavy moment of silence, he decided to sidestep the question entirely. "I've come to enquire after my cousin."

Black's expression grew confused; he took in Remus' full appearance for the first time. Remus did not miss the way his eyes lingered on his buckskins and his windswept hair. "On foot?"

"As you see."

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them, as Remus waited for Black to make some reply.

When it became clear that Black had no intention of doing so, Remus asked in a strained voice; "Would you be so kind as to take me to her?"

Black motioned wordlessly for Remus to join him in walking back towards the house. Remus grudgingly fell into step behind him — he couldn't believe he was entering this house of insufferable beings.

_For Lily. You're doing it for Lily. _

Taking in the scandalised expressions of Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes as he crossed the threshold of Peverell House, Remus thought there wasn't a single other person in the world he loved enough to endure this sort of condescension.

* * *

"Well, we must allow him to be an excellent _walker_, I suppose." Miss McKinnon's lip curled in distaste. "But his appearance this morning — he really looked almost _wild_."

"I could hardly keep my countenance." Miss Meadowes agreed.

"What does he mean by scampering about the country because his cousin has a cold?" Miss McKinnon chuckled; "His _hair_, Dorcas!"

Miss Meadowes laughed airily. "Not to mention his _trousers_! I hope you saw them, James. Six inches deep in mud, I'm absolutely certain."

James shrugged. "I must confess, it quite escaped my notice. I thought Mr. Lupin looked remarkably well."

Miss McKinnon's eyes found Sirius, who was brooding in an armchair by the window. "_You_ observed it, I'm sure, Mr. Black."

"I did."

Miss McKinnon leaned against the mantel as she eyed Sirius. "I'm inclined to think you wouldn't wish dear Regulus to make such an exhibition."

"Certainly not." Sirius paused. "Though I think the likelihood of that is low, Regulus would never dare jeopardise his manicure."

James chuckled.

Undeterred, Miss McKinnon continued in a speculative drawl. "It seems to me to show an abominable sort of... conceited independence, hm?"

Sirius was only halfway-listening. He stared into open space, and replayed his earlier conversation with Lupin over and over. He had been such a bumbling idiot, but he could hardly think straight when Lupin stood before him looking like _that _— flushed from his walk and bright-eyed and ever-so-slightly disheveled. Sirius had wanted to run his hands through those windswept curls. He had wanted to stride forward and kiss Lupin on his stupid, cherub's mouth, and not only to stop all those clever little barbs from coming out of it.

Miss Meadowes nodded avidly at Miss McKinnon's words, but James took umbrage; "It shows an affection for his cousin that is very pleasing!"

"I'm afraid, Mr. Black, that this escapade may have affected your admiration for Lupin's _fine eyes_." Miss McKinnon said, ever watchful as she awaited Sirius' response.

"Not at all." Sirius said shortly. "They were brightened by the exercise."

Miss McKinnon's smirk froze as she stared at Black and then Miss Meadowes, who quickly interceded and said; "But Lily Evans is a _sweet_ girl. It's very sad she should have such an unfortunate family, such low connections."

Miss McKinnon took the lifeline gladly. "Their uncle, she told us, is in trade and lives in Cheapside."

Miss Meadowes leaned forward with the air of someone about to share a terrible secret; "I heard it from Miss Evans herself that Remus' father was a _solicitor._ In _Gracechurch Street_ of all places." She paused. "Before he was lost to the pox, that is."

Sirius frowned. "And Mr. Lupin never took up the work himself?"

He thought it odd, that someone of Lupin's station, so obviously educated and industrious, would pass up the opportunity of respectable work.

"Oh, heavens, no." Miss McKinnon scoffed. "As I understand it, there wasn't any money set aside for University."

Sirius turned his full attention to the conversation.

"But you would think that Mr. Evans would have put a sum aside to fund the education of his own ward," Black remarked disapprovingly, glowering as he considered Lupin's unenviable situation in life. "I had thought he was fond of the boy."

"Oh, he is." Miss McKinnon assured him. "He's the favourite, by all accounts. But Dorcas had it from Sir William that Mr. Evans is frightfully negligent with his finances. As I understand it, Lily and the other girls have a dowry of scarcely more than fifty pounds a year."

James bristled at that. "I don't see how that matters! I find them to be very agreeable people."

Sirius huffed at his friend's willful naiveté. "But with such connections, they can have very little chance of marrying well, James. _That_ is the material point."

If only Lupin had owned some land, or had perhaps purchased himself a small commission… then things might have been different between them. Sirius felt a pang in his chest. Because things were what they were, and Lupin was no suitable marriage prospect. By anybody's definition.

As if summoned, the doors opened and Lupin entered, looking aggrieved.

James stood promptly and faced him. "Mr. Lupin, how does your cousin do? Is she any better?"

Lupin's face was lined with weariness and with worry. "I am afraid that she is quite unwell, Mister Potter."

James ran his hand through his hair, mirroring Remus' worry by chewing on his lip nervously. "Let me send for Madam Pomfrey, and you must stay until your cousin is recovered."

_Oh no._ Sirius thought, glancing at James in panic. How was he supposed to crush this infernal infatuation with Lupin if the man himself was to be staying in the same bloody house as him? For God knows how long?

Lupin looked as taken aback as Sirius felt. "I would not wish to inconvenience you."

James waved him off. "I wouldn't hear of anything else. I'll send to Longbourn for your clothes directly."

Remus bestowed a tired little smile on James. "You're very kind, sir."

Sirius let his head fall against the back of the armchair.

Lord in heaven, he was in for one hell of a week.


	5. A Turn About The Room

Remus brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, peering critically into the vanity beside Lily's bed. His cousin was doing better, though still very pale and far too ill to be moved. She would therefore not be joining Remus downstairs for dinner. He tugged at his waistcoat — he had selected a brown, form-fitting one rather than the more formal green — and started fiddling with his cuffs.

Lily watched him fussing with hazy eyes and a soft smile. "You look handsome, you know."

Remus glanced at his cousin, who was propped up on a mountain of pillows. "I shan't disgrace you, then?"

"As if you could ever." Lily propped herself upright, supported by a great many pillows. "You look very dashing. If you are not very careful, I should think the whole congregation will fall in love with you."

Remus threw his head back in a loud 'Ha!' . "Oh, honestly, can you imagine? I should think that Mr. Black would sooner throw himself into the Thames than fall in love with me ."

"Perhaps Mr. Black will surprise you." Lily tried. "If you bothered to be friendly, as I very well know you can be, I am sure you would find him more agreeable."

Remus shook his head, a wry twist to his lips as he replied; "I'd have more luck befriending a crocodile."

"Remus—"

"At least my attempt with the crocodile would be of short duration. None of this protracted suffering that Black will no doubt subject me to tonight." Remus screwed his face up into a severe expression. " 'Look, James, see how the village boy sits before us wearing simple cloth. I should not be surprised, he is, after all, only the ugly son of some pauper solicitor. And do you know he walked all the way to Peverell House? Why, when I was a lad, I was carried everywhere on a litter and my feet never touched the ground. Oh, now, see how he uses his shrimp fork? It is as though he never had lessons on shrimp-fork etiquette with the King's maiden aunt's cousin's wife...'"

Lily burst into laughter that quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Remus moved towards the bed and gave her a few firm pats on the back until the nasty hacking sounds passed, and she breathed deeply, settling back down into her pillow mountain.

"Mr. Black is not very much older than you." Lily said reprovingly. "And I doubt he was ever carried anywhere in a litter."

"He is ten years older, thanks very much. But perhaps you are right." Remus conceded with a grin. "Though I am quite sure the whole household was scandalised by the manner of my arriving."

"Please be civil at dinner, Remus." Lily said, a little anxiety creeping into her voice. "Mr. Black is James' best friend, after all—" Lily's mouth snapped shut, and her cheeks pinked.

Too late.

" James ?" Remus repeated incredulously. "And when exactly did you get onto a first-name basis with the charming Mr. Potter?"

Lily stared determinedly at her hands, and faked a small cough. "You know, I'm feeling very tired. I think I will have a little nap, if you don't mind."

Remus chuckled and stepped away from the bed. "Have it your way. But I'll wrangle the truth out of you eventually, Evans. I know where you live, after all."

Lily stuffed her head under a pillow. "I wish you didn't." Came her muffled reply.

Remus shook his head, but glanced back at Lily just as he reached the door. "I think it's a good thing, you know. If you're getting to know Mr. Potter better. If he asked you to call him James. I'd be happy for you."

Lily lifted the pillow and peered out at him. "Thank you, Remus." She said softly. "I just… I feel like if I talk about it too much, everything will go horribly wrong. I can hardly bear to hope that he might… You know." Lily mumbled something Remus couldn't quite hear underbreath, and then asked in a small, vulnerable voice; "Does that make me daft?"

"No." Remus replied gently. "Not daft. You carry on being cynical — I'll carry hope enough for the both of us, eh?"

Lily nodded, and gave Remus a small smile. "That would be very nice. Thank you."

Remus sighed heavily. "Wish me luck."

"Luck."

* * *

It would have been fine if it was just dinner, Remus thought to himself as he sat reading on the loveseat in the drawing-room of Peverell House — which was a great deal grander than Longbourne's.

But it hadn't been just dinner, oh no. It had been dinner — four courses, all extravagant beyond reason given that it was just an ordinary Wednesday , for heaven's sake — and then tea, which had been taken in the formal lounge, and then on to the drawing-room for games and cigars and port.

It had been hours. Hours .

Hours of pointed questions from Miss McKinnon about his poor relations. Hours of sly looks from Miss Meadowes. Hours of earnest yet aggravatingly specific questions from Potter about Lily's health — how much did she eat for lunch? Was she drinking enough water? Ought he call Madame Pomfrey back? Was the tea he sent up around sunset over-sugared, or just right?

And hours of sullen silence from Mr. Black.

That, Remus would have thought he'd be able to tolerate happily. But Black was almost overbearingly loud in his silence. His presence, though still and stony, seemed to fill up the room and press in on Remus, oppressive and gloomy and watchful .

Because Black did watch him; Remus was baffled to realise it. He stole glances over dinner, and outrightly stared as Remus now answered a question from Miss Meadowes about the very good play he had seen when he was last in London — a question which had drawn him from the brief respite of his novel.

"I thought Ganymede was very good." Remus had said of the production, which had debuted at the theatre in Drury Lane. "But Zeus was a bit unconvincing to me. Resolutely heterosexual — he made a right mess of trying to act as though he were in love with a man."

"In lust, you mean." Black had interrupted, eyes intently fixed on Remus. "He only thought Ganymede was beautiful. There was nothing more to it."

It was the first thing he had said to Remus all night.

Remus didn't know why Black's words felt so pointed; so he merely frowned at the other man. "Zeus made him cup-bearer. Made him forever young and immortal. He literally put him in the sky, so that he could shine down on humanity for all eternity."

"So?"

"So," Remus huffed. "There was nothing to stop Zeus getting off with Ganymede and dropping him back down to herd his sheep, was there?"

A stilted silence fell over the room. To their credit, if Miss McKinnon or Miss Meadowes were at all scandalised by Remus' talk of getting off, they did a good job of not showing it.

"Only common decency." Black then replied sullenly.

"Zeus was hardly known for common decency." Remus quickly snapped, feeling his ire growing. "So that's a bit of stupid interpretation, isn't it? That it must've been lust because Ganymede was only a shepherd's son and Zeus was a God, so what could Ganymede possibly have to offer beyond his good looks? Heaven forbid someone lowborn have wit, or a good heart, or a noble spirit, or basically any personal gifts beyond a fortunate face!"

It did occur to Remus, however briefly, that perhaps they were not really arguing about Zeus and Ganymede anymore.

Black stared at Remus in silence for what felt like an age. His silver-grey eyes intently searching Remus' face for — what? Remus hardly knew. He glared back, shoulders stiff and chin tilted up slightly in resolute defiance.

At length, Black replied in a careful voice; "Perhaps you are right. I may have underestimated Ganymede."

And that had been it. The conversation had turned towards pleasanter things, and Remus had retreated back into his novel. He was vaguely aware of Black abandoning his cigar in favour of a pen; he seemed to be writing a letter.

Miss McKinnon, Miss Meadowes and Mr. Potter were playing cards.

Potter laid down a successful play, and the ladies groaned.

"Mr. Black! You must come and advise me, Mr. Potter carries all before him!"

Black only barely looked up from his letter. "I'd be of little use, Miss McKinnon. Nobody's managed to beat James at cards since Cambridge."

James seemed exceedingly pleased by this. "It's true." He grinned. "Undefeated for ten years now. I almost feel bad, cheating you fine people out of your money."

Remus chuckled at that, drawing the attention of Miss Meadowes.

"Will you not join us, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus shook his head. "I thank you, no."

"You prefer reading to playing cards, do you?" Miss Meadowes inquired archly. "How singular."

"Mr. Lupin is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else." Miss McKinnon declared, a sly smile gracing her lips as she eyed Remus with thinly-veiled condescension. Miss Meadowes chuckled.

Remus set down his book, huffing slightly, and turned to face the ladies. "I deserve neither such praise nor such censure." He stared challengingly at Miss McKinnon. "I am not a great reader, and take pleasure in many things."

To this, it seemed, Miss McKinnon had no reply.

She quickly refocused her attention on Black, who had returned to his writing and did not seem to have noticed the uncomfortable exchange. "And what is it you do so secretly, sir?"

Black glanced up, apparently surprised at being addressed. "It is no secret — I am writing to my brother."

"Oh, dear Regulus!" Miss McKinnon crowed. "How I long to see him. Has he much grown since the spring? Is he yet as tall as me?"

The ladies giggled. From this, Remus gathered that the younger Black must be rather diminutive.

"He has grown a great deal." Mr. Black said shortly. "He is perhaps Mr. Remus Lupin's height, give or take an inch."

Miss McKinnon stilled, almost imperceptibly, before launching into further conversation about the younger Mr. Black. "Dear Regulus is so accomplished. His performance at the pianoforte is exquisite. Do you play, Mister Lupin?"

Surprised at being addressed, Remus spoke bluntly; "Aye, but very ill indeed." Then, remembering his promise to Lily to be civil, he added; "My mother taught me when I was a lad, though she was the only one in the family with any talent for it."

"Do you enjoy it?" Black asked abruptly, giving up on his letter-writing and focusing fully on Remus.

Remus blinked. "Yes." Be nice. Be nice for Lily. "I imagine I enjoy it a great deal more than those who are forced to listen, at least."

Black's face betrayed no amusement, but Mr. Potter laughed loudly. "I am sure you do yourself no credit, Lupin! I should very much like to hear you play sometime." He said, before adding; "I am astounded that all young people are over-accomplished these days! They sing, they draw, they dance, speak French and German, cover screens, and I know not what! Meanwhile, I doubt I could find my way around a pianoforte if you gave me a map."

Remus laughed, genuinely, for Mr. Potter was so warm and honest and cheerful that it was almost impossible not to.

Black brought Remus down to earth again quickly enough, however. "There are not half a dozen who would satisfy my notion of an accomplished person." Black said, short and clipped.

Miss McKinnon tittered. "Oh, certainly! No person can be thought of as really accomplished who does not also possess a certain something in their air, in their manner of walking, in the tone of their voice, their address and expressions..."

Remus barely controlled the impulse to roll his eyes. To his surprise, it was Black who refuted Miss McKinnon.

"And to all this, they must yet add something more substantial." He said evenly, eyes flickering over Remus so discreetly Remus thought he might have imagined it. "The improvement of their mind by extensive reading."

Remus couldn't help the scoff that escaped him. "I am no longer surprised at finding that you know only a half-dozen accomplished ladies and gentlemen, I rather wonder at you knowing any ." Unable to bite back his words, Remus straightened up and addressed Black further; "For I am sure that I never saw such capacity, and taste, and elegance, and intelligence, as you describe, united."

"You are very severe upon your generation, Mr. Lupin." Miss Meadowes remarked, though Remus had the impression that she was mildly impressed by his proclamation.

"I must speak as I find."

This, it appeared, caused Miss McKinnon singular offence. " Perhaps , Mr. Lupin, you have not had the advantage of moving in society enough. There are many very accomplished young people amongst our acquaintance."

"And yet Mr. Black stands before me, a bachelor." Remus said flatly. "If accomplished and beautiful youths were in such great supply, surely he would be wed already."

Remus could feel Black's gaze burning a hole in his head. Resolutely, he ignored the other gentleman.

"Mr. Lupin, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room." Miss McKinnon said suddenly, jumping to her feet. "It is so refreshing."

Remus blinked at the abrupt change in conversation. "Err…"

"I must insist." The lady smiled, though Remus detected no warmth in her expression.

Obliging Miss McKinnon, Remus stood, and took the arm she offered. They had made it halfway around the room, Remus feeling utterly ridiculous, when Miss McKinnon let out a great sigh.

"Will you not join us, Mr. Black?"

Remus could think of little worse, but he needn't have worried about Black joining them, as the other gentleman merely replied; "That would defeat the object."

Well, he has the measure of Miss McKinnon at least, Remus thought.

"What on earth could he mean ?" Miss McKinnon asked Remus in a high, faux-scandalised voice.

"I think we would be better not to inquire." Remus said dryly, glancing at Black where he remained seated. There was a squirming in Remus' stomach as he caught Black's eye — the gentleman was watching their turn about the room very intently.

Too intently. Remus averted his gaze, pretending to admire one of the very many fine artworks on the wall above the chaise.

"We demand to know your meaning, sir!" Miss McKinnon pressed, still, regrettably, arm-in-arm with Remus.

Remus thought he saw Black's lip quirk. "Only that your figures appear to best advantage while walking, and that I might best admire them from my current vantage point."

Remus stared at Black in mild astonishment, not entirely able to mask his surprise. He felt his face becoming hot.

Cad! Insufferable, stuffy, arrogant cad!

Remus schooled his expression, and Miss McKinnon spoke again. "Wicked man! To offer such an abominable reply — How shall we punish him, Mr. Lupin?"

Their turn around the room had ended in front of Mr. Black, who was leaning back against the writing desk and surveying Remus as one might a difficult bit of arithmetic.

Remus offered Miss McKinnon as amiable smile as he was able to. "Nothing so easy. We need only laugh at him."

Miss McKinnon unlinked their arms, stepped back, and stared at Remus, aghast. "Laugh at Mr. Black?" She repeated. "Impossible. He is a man without fault!"

Remus raised his eyebrows at Black, who at least had the decency to look flustered at Miss McKinnon's proclamation. " 'A man without fault?' "

"No man is faultless." Black said quickly, and then added; "Though I do make it my habit to avoid those weaknesses which expose a strong understanding to ridicule."

Remus could hardly help himself, in the face of such low-hanging fruit. He tried to keep his expression innocent and enquiring as he asked; "Such as an arrogance, or pride?"

"Arrogance is a weakness indeed." Black said quietly, a small frown on his face. "But pride…where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."

Remus could not quite control himself, and allowed an expression of polite disbelief to cross his face. Eyebrows high, Remus made no attempt to stop the small smirk twisting his lips.

This, it seemed, irked Black greatly.

"I have faults enough, Mr. Lupin, but I hope they are not of understanding." Black said, silver-grey eyes darkened as he frowned at Remus. "My temper I cannot vouch for. It might be called resentful."

Oh, really? Remus again fought the impulse to roll his eyes.

Black continued; "My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."

Remus surveyed Black closely, and then replied; "That is a failing indeed, but I cannot laugh at it."

"I believe every disposition has a tendency to some particular evil." Black said, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.

Remus scoffed. "And your defect is a propensity to hate everyone!"

"While yours is to willfully misunderstand them!" Black growled, standing abruptly — suddenly very much in Remus' personal space.

Furious and affronted, Remus made no attempt to back down. He merely glared back at Black, hot amber meeting cold silver. Black's jaw was set, his agitation rolling off of him in waves. Their faces were bare inches from each other.

There was a silent, unbroken moment of tension as everybody else in the room stilled, staring at them.

Then, blessedly, Potter intervened. "Er, shall we have some music? Hmm? Marlene dear, please oblige us, you play so well."

Miss McKinnon sprung into action, apparently delighted at the prospect of displaying her talents, and launched into a lively Scotch air on the pianoforte. Mr. Potter engaged Miss Meadowes in some small-talk about botany, and Remus remained rooted to the spot, still inches from a stonily silent Black.

At length, however, Mr. Black seemed to come back to himself. He coughed, and stepped away. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Lupin. I should not have been so short with you."

Remus was genuinely taken aback at that. "It's fine."

"I wonder if…" Black trailed off, looking almost abashed. "I wonder if you would dance with me?"

Remus blinked.

He did not think he had been so shocked in all of his life.

"No." The reply was so automatic, so undeniably rude, that even Remus had the sense to feel embarrassed by it. "I mean, thank you. I am not inclined to dance."

Black nodded shortly, a faint flush upon his cheeks, and sat back down at the writing desk. He did not address Remus further, and instead returned to his letter-writing.

Almost in a daze, Remus returned to his seat. What on earth just happened?

Remus was not to know — by the heavens, he could never have guessed in a thousand years — that his refusal to dance with Black had somehow served to increase the gentleman's burgeoning admiration of him.

In fact, as Black wrote to his brother, he reflected that, if not for the inferiority of Lupin's connections, he should be in some danger.

* * *

Remus thought that he had never been so relieved to leave a place in all his life.

Finally, Lily had recovered enough to return home. Still pale, but hardy enough, she was helped into the carriage by Mr. Potter. A light shawl hung around her shoulders, and Remus observed the way that Potter fussed with it before stepping back.

"You're sure you're not too cold?" He asked nervously.

Lily smiled, blushing. "Thank you, Sir. I am quite warm."

Potter grinned, abashed. "Er, good. I am pleased to hear it. You will write to Miss McKinnon to tell us how you are feeling? I fear that she will worry terribly, otherwise."

" Miss McKinnon needn't worry." Remus said, grinning. "Lily will be fully recovered in no time at all, I am sure. But perhaps, if you wished to ease your friend's mind, you could call upon us. Then you might be able to provide a first-hand account of Lily's good health."

Lily shot a glance at Remus, exasperated but clearly pleased, as Potter hastened to agree.

"Oh, yes! Splendid idea! I should be delighted." He said. "That is, if I am not intruding."

Lily shook her head, eyes downcast as she smiled. "I should be very glad if you came to call."

Potter looked utterly enchanted as he stared at Lily. Remus shuffled awkwardly by the door to the carriage. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Oh!" Potter jumped back. "Of course! You must be off. My best to the family, Lupin."

Remus nodded, smiling. "Thank you for your hospitality, Sir. You've been the most excellent host." With the least excellent friends, but that's another matter entirely.

Potter stood in the drive, waving, until the carriage passed a bend and Peverell House disappeared entirely. Remus felt the tension of an unending week drop off as soon as the place left his vision. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Cousin, I love you, so much. You know this." Remus said. "But I swear to God in heaven, next time you catch a cold and end up stuck at Peverell House, I'm leaving you there to die alone."

Lily let out a surprised laugh. "They cannot have been that bad, Remus!"

Remus only shook his head. He did not think he possessed the words for how unfathomably bad it had been.

* * *

Sirius watched Lupin's departure from the dining-room window. He struck a fine figure in the sunlight, and Sirius was not above watching the flex of lithe muscle as Lupin pulled himself into the carriage.

Sirius jerked his head. He needed to get a hold of himself. He felt as though Lupin had infected his mind — he had hardly had a moment's peace from thoughts of the other man since he came to stay a week ago. It felt as though Lupin had been everywhere, and even when he wasn't, Sirius found Lupin's sharp, angular face and lively expression swam in his mind's eye. Taunting him. Tempting him.

He could not seem to banish the man from his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried.

Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes were eating breakfast, their spirits unusually high. The former sipped her tea, sighed, and then proclaimed; "Oh, how pleasant it is to have one's house to oneself again!"

Miss Meadowes ' hmmm 'ed in agreement.

"But I fear," Miss McKinnon continued pointedly, glancing Sirius' way, "That Mr. Black is mourning the loss of Mr. Lupin's pert opinions and fine eyes."

Sirius stared as Lupin's carriage disappeared from view behind a thicket of trees.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you."


	6. Pettigrew and Crouch

The letter arrived exactly two days after Remus and Lily had returned to Longbourn.

It had come with the evening post; Mr Evans' name written in an unfamiliar hand, neatly slanted cursive, the return address an unfamiliar rectory in Kent.

Remus watched as Mr. Evans opened it and read, his eyebrows getting progressively higher as he did so. He reached the end, ruffled back through to re-read some of the earlier passages, and looked up at the table.

Mrs. Evans had taken no notice — she was fussing over Petunia, who had at last succeeded in getting an invitation to dinner at the Dursley's Tuesday next. Remus caught his uncle's eye immediately, however, and elbowed Lily to pay attention as Mr. Evans cleared his throat.

"It appears, my dear, that we must make preparations for a houseguest."

Mrs. Evans abandoned her conversation with Petunia and fixed her husband with a beady glare. "A houseguest? When? And who, pray, is wishing to impose themselves? I know for a fact that Arthur and Molly aren't due to visit for months. Tell me it isn't one of your tiresome distant relatives — I swear on my poor nerves, Mr. Evans, I will not see my home become a boarding-house for errant cobblers and shopkeepers, I won't ."

"Our addition is expected to arrive after the new moon, I am told." Mr. Evans waved the letter to indicate it as the source of this information. "And our guest is a person I never saw in the whole course of my life, though I think it safe to assume he has undertaken no cobbling, nor shopkeeping."

"Well?" Mrs. Evans demanded. "Who, pray, are we to be hosting, then?"

"My cousin, Mr. Pettigrew, who when I am dead may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases." Mr. Evans said simply, no hint of reproach against the man in his voice.

Mrs. Evans, predictably, did not follow her husband's lead. "Pray, don't mention that odious man!" She pulled loose a handkerchief and breathed heavily into it. "It frays my nerves to think of how your estate is entailed away from your own poor children."

Lily shifted uncomfortably next to Remus, and he spared her a sympathetic glance and squeezed her arm. "We'll be okay." He murmured to her, and she nodded steadily.

They would. Remus told himself firmly. They'd have to be.

"Indeed, my dear, nothing can clear Mr. Pettigrew of the iniquitous crime of inheriting Longbourn, but if you will listen to his letter, you may be softened by his manner of expressing himself."

Mr. Evans raised the letter to eye level and read aloud in a clear voice;

"' My dear sir, the disagreements subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness; and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breech.' There, Mrs Evans, do you see?"

Mrs. Evans sniffed.

" My mind, however, now is made up on the subject, for having received my ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lord Phineas Nigellus Black... "

Remus shot Lily a look at this, and she raised her eyebrows. Remus thought that this Lord Phineas had to be a relation of Mr. Black — there simply weren't that many highborn families for two men so elevated in status to share in a name. And of course, the man destined to turn them out of Longbourn was somehow associated with Mr. Black. That would be just their luck.

" ...whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory at Hunsford, where it is my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards his lordship. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds, I flatter myself, that my present overtures of goodwill are highly commendable, and will not lead you to reject the offered olive branch. I am, sir, keenly conscious of being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends. I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family on Monday, the eighteenth… " Mrs. Evans squawked, as that was less than three days hence. " …and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday sevenight following. I shall travel as far as the turnpike in my own modest equipage, where I hope to catch the Bromley post at thirty-five minutes past ten, and thence to Watford. From whence I shall engage a hired carriage to transport me to Longbourn, where, God willing, you may expect me by four in the afternoon. "

"And there you have it." Mr. Evans concluded, setting the letter down. "As fine a mix of servility and self-importance as I have ever seen."

"We certainly needn't accuse him of brevity." Remus shook his head, mulling over the letter. "I don't think I ever heard somebody's travel plans laid out in such onerous detail. And to give such little notice of his coming! What if we had prior engagements?"

"Well, if he is at all disposed to make our girls any amends, I shall not discourage him!" Mrs. Evans said, her demeanour towards the man immediately transformed at the first whiff of a potential marriage for one of her daughters.

"He presumes too much." Remus insisted, turning to Mr. Evans. "Can such a man possibly be sensible?"

Mr. Evans smiled at Remus. "Oh, I think not, my dear boy. Indeed, I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse."

* * *

Mr. Peter Pettigrew had watery blue eyes and fluffy fair hair. He was pudgy, and doughy, and had a waxen complexion which Remus felt quite befitting of one employed to lurk about rectories.

He was, perhaps, the shortest man Remus had ever seen.

Indeed, Pettigrew did not step down from the carriage so much as he took a calculated leap of faith towards the ground. Lydia and Kitty chuckled behind their hands as the man stumbled upon landing, and Mrs. Evans glared at them quite severely.

"Mr. Pettigrew, you are very welcome." Mr. Evans said. "I do hope the Bromley post was prompt and comfortable." Remus had the impression that his uncle was determinedly avoiding his eye, and indeed, Remus thought he might lose his composure entirely if he saw the sardonic amusement in his uncle's expression head-on.

"My dear Mr. and Mrs. Evans." Mr. Pettigrew smiled widely, revealing a row of crooked teeth, and sunk into a most ridiculous bow. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

* * *

It transpired, as Mr. Evans had predicted, that Mr. Pettigrew was perhaps the most ridiculous man Remus had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Though initially apologetic about standing to inherit Longbourn one day, Pettigrew spent an inordinate amount of time appraising his surrounds, at one point picking up a goblet and inspecting the maker's mark stamped into the stem — he then pronounced it to be fine, and like the household as a whole, very charming. He reminded Remus very much of a greedy little rat, eyeing every corner for hidden riches.

Alas, Pettigrew, though very, very stupid, was not blind.

Remus imagined that he had settled upon Lily as the object of his plan to marry an Evans from the moment he had first seen her. Remus had done all he could to dissuade the man, short of offering himself up as tribute instead. The only effect this seemed to have was to give Pettigrew the mistaken impression that Remus somehow enjoyed his company and conversation — he therefore sought to bestow both on Remus rather more than he could tolerably stand.

It was only when Mrs. Evans had kindly informed Pettigrew that Lily was soon to be engaged — technically a falsehood, but forgivable to Remus in view of the very distressing circumstances — that Pettigrew seemed to relent in his simpering compliments and attentions towards the eldest Miss Evans.

Unhappily, Pettigrew's attentions seemed to resettle almost immediately upon Remus, who, as it has been established, had given the false impression of liking Pettigrew in his attempt to protect Lily.

Remus was not to know that Mr. Pettigrew had informed Mrs. Evans of his intentions to — Lord in heaven — woo Remus; "...as I have no particular proclivity towards either sex, I feel that a clergyman must be equally wise to the virtues of both men and women." He had declared, as though it made him the most magnanimous gentleman in the country. "And indeed, my noble patron Lord Phineas Nigellus has himself professed to prefer the company of men — he recommended surrogate to a visiting Lord recently, a hardy local girl who would surely be fit to carry again my Michaelmas… yes, that would do nicely if I were to wed Remus."

Remus was also not to know that Mrs. Evans, delighted at the prospect of keeping Longbourn in the family, had encouraged Mr. Pettigrew in his plan. "I am sure that Remus would be most delighted, Mr. Pettigrew."

And so, Remus settled into dinner with Pettigrew and the Evanses in a state of cheerful oblivion. He had gone on a long walk that day — mostly to avoid Pettigrew — and had tanned slightly in the sunshine. Mrs. Evans had scolded him something fierce for that — "You look like a farmhand, Remus! Your complexion would be fine if only you took care to stay out of the sun! Heavens, you've no compassion for my poor nerves— "

Mr. Evans sliced himself some ham, and appeared to struggle to find a safe topic of conversation to broach with Pettigrew. "You seem very, er… fortunate , in your patron, Sir."

"Lord Phineas Nigellus Black." Mr. Pettigrew sighed heavily, as though something as sacred as the name of God had just passed his lips. "Indeed, I am, sir. I have been treated with such affability, such condescension, as I would never have dared to hope for. I have been invited twice to dine at Grimmauld Place."

Remus tried not to laugh, and passed off a cough into his napkin. Lily glanced askance, a similar smile on her face. Petunia regarded both of them with a scowl of disapproval.

"That so?" Mr. Evans said politely. "Amazing, hm."

"Does she live near you, Sir?" Mrs. Evans enquired.

Mr. Pettigrew was plainly delighted by the question, and nearly rocked back on his heels as he offered an eager reply; "The garden, in which stands my humble abode, is separated only by a lane from Grimmauld Place, if you can believe! I am truly blessed."

"Only a lane, eh? Well, fancy that, Remus."

Remus, who had chosen that inopportune moment to take a mouthful of soup, dropped his spoon with a clatter and shot his uncle a look — tears springing to his eyes as he swallowed down the hot soup.

"I think you said he was a bachelor, Sir? Has he any family?" Remus managed, voice a little hoarse as he cleared his throat.

"Oh, he has one neice, the heiress of Grimmauld, and of very extensive property. Miss Bellatrix Black." Mr. Pettigrew replied.

"And has she been presented at court?"

Pettigrew sighed. "She is, unfortunately, shy of crowds, which unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lord Phineas myself one day, she has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament!" Pettigrew paused, perhaps for dramatic effect, before turning to Mr. Evans. "You may imagine, Sir, how happy I am, on every occasion, to offer those little delicate compliments, which are always acceptable to ladies."

Remus all but stuffed his napkin into his mouth to hide his silent laughter. His shoulders shook and he was certain tears were streaming down his face. Across the table, he caught Lydia's expression of disgust as she surveyed Pettigrew as one might a particularly large cockroach. Kitty seemed quite indifferent to the proceedings, and was stuffing her face with ham.

"It is fortunate for you, Mr. Pettigrew, that you possess such an extraordinary talent for flattering with delicacy." Mr. Evans said. "May I ask whether these pleasing attentions arise from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?"

Remus was done. He burst into a snicker, standing from the table and desperately trying to cough to cover up his amusement. Even Lily allowed herself an amused smile at Mr. Evans' words.

Mr. Pettigrew had no notion of the fact that he was being aggresively mocked. He merely smiled pleasantly at Mr. Evans. "They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, Sir." He paused, as if deliberating. "I do, sometimes, amuse myself by writing down and arranging such little compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions. But I try to give them as unstudied an air as possible."

Remus thought he might choke with the effort it took to hold back his mirth. Lily shot him a look of exasperation, but seemed to be having her own struggles too.

"Excellent, exellent."

* * *

The problem with Mr. Pettigrew, other than everything , was that he seemed to accompany Remus everywhere. Remus had gone to town with Lydia and Kitty, but Pettigrew had followed there, too.

He walked alongside Pettigrew, slowing to allow the puffed, squat clergyman to keep astride, occasionally huffing in his acknowledgement of the near-endless diatribe the gentleman kept up about his noble patron, Lord Phineas.

Blessedly, Lydia had caught sight of one of her officer friends, a Mr. Rosier.

"Rosier! Rosier! Over here!" Lydia waved wildly, and Remus was too exhausted from Mr. Pettigrew to admonish her properly. "We thought you were still in town!"

The gentleman approached, bringing a companion with him. Rosier, who Remus had met once or twice before, had shiny black hair and bright blue eyes. He would have been good-looking, though he had rather a weak chin.

"There was nothing amusing enough to hold us there." Rosier said, offhand.

Rosier's companion, by contrast, was striking indeed.

The gentleman had windswept brown hair and dark, wild eyes. His lips, well-formed but a little thin, had a naturally wry quirk to them. He was tall, and rather slender, though strong, and wore his regimentals very well.

There was something easy and amused in his expression, and as Remus caught the gentleman's eye, he felt sure that he winked at him.

Remus' cheeks pinked a little.

"May I present my friend, Mr. Barty Crouch Jr." Rosier said, gesturing to the brown-haired man — Barty — who bowed, glancing up at Remus with a grin as he did.

"Miss Lydia Evans, Miss Kitty Evans, Mr. Remus Lupin." Rosier gestured to each of them in turn. He faced Mr. Pettigrew and an expression of confusion crossed his face. "And this is…?"

"Our cousin, Mr. Pettigrew." Remus said.

Barty Crouch Jr. smiled warmly at Remus, and politely greeted them all. Remus felt his heart skip a beat.

"Oh, we met Barty the other week." Lydia said airily, smiling indulgently at the gentleman. "Didn't we, Barty?"

Remus coughed. "Do you plan to stay long in the Hollow, Mr. Crouch?"

"Barty, Please." Barty Crouch Jr. said insistently. "Mr. Crouch was my father. I confess I never took up the mantle comfortably. And I'm happy to say I plan to stay all winter, with Colonel Dearborn's regiment. His husband, Benjy, was a particular friend of mine in University."

Lydia burst into giggles for no good reason, other than that she was ogling Barty rather obviously. Remus scowled at her.

"I swear that by winter's end you'll have captured the heart of every boy and girl in town!" Rosier declared, chagrined as he noted Lydia's obvious interest in his friend. "Some men have all the luck."

Remus quirked an eyebrow at Barty.

"Rosier, you misrepresent me to these fine young people." Barty said hurriedly, sending an abashed grin Remus' way, rubbing the back of his neck. "They shall think me some sort of scoundrel if you do not let up."

"You shall provide some entertainment if Rosier is accurate in his assessment of your character." Remus said slyly. "At present, the Hollow is rather light on scoundrels."

Barty chuckled. "I confess, I have no wish to upset such an agreeable arrangement. You will find me a perfect gentleman, Mr. Lupin."

Remus felt a smile overtake his features at that. He was sure he looked glowing, but could hardly manage to school his features in the presence of this handsome, witty man. He found himself quite unexpectedly taken with Rosier's companion.

"Oh!" Lydia exclaimed. "Will you come with us to our Uncle Lovegood's this evening, Barty?"

"Oh, yes!" Kitty said. "Rosier is coming, too, you know. And Diggory."

"It's only supper and cards, but we shall have some laughs."

Barty offered a regretful little smile to Lydia. "I am afraid I have not been invited by Mr. Lovegood."

Remus felt his chest warm at Barty's commitment to propriety — Remus was inclined to think that Barty was every bit the perfect gentleman he claimed to be.

"Oh, no one cares about that sort of thing nowadays." Lydia waved a hand. "I insist!"

"Well, if Mr. Lovegood extended the invitation to include me…" Barty spoke carefully. "I should be delighted."

Remus could not help but stare at Barty. Denying Lydia was no mean feat, and Barty had managed it so amicably, so politely, that Lydia did not seem to fully understand that she had even lost.

Barty stared back in a way that made Remus blush and direct his attention to the ground. He felt so inexplicably gone on this man, though he hardly knew a thing about him.

Remus needed Lily to knock some sense into him — that much was clear. It had clearly been too long since Remus had the pleasure of a romantic dalliance.

The sound of hooves on cobblestone caused Remus to look up. There, mere feet away, were Potter and Black.

Potter dismounted his brown mare to greet the party immediately, shaking Remus' hand and offering such a warm smile that Remus almost forgot to be displeased to see Black.

"Lupin!" Potter exclaimed. "How very fortunate! Do you know we were just on our way to Longbourn to ask after your cousin's health?"

Remus looked up at Black, who was still astride an admittedly magnificent black stallion (though he maintained that the show-pony was no replacement for his Buckbeak in spirit), and seemed to be frozen in place.

Quizzical, Remus followed Black's eyeline to Barty. The men seemed to be locked in a staring contest of sorts. Tension rolled off the pair in waves.

"You are very kind, Sir. I'm sure Lily will be delighted to see you — she has recovered completely, I believe."

Potter adjusted his spectacles, grinning. "I am very glad to hear it."

"I hope you are willing to come and have tea with us, later." Remus said, half an eye still on the uncomfortable non-exchange between Barty and Black. "We are going to the Lovegoods for supper and cards."

"I shall be very happy to, Lupin." Potter said agreeably. "But I shall have to check with Black."

At this point, Barty bowed politely at Black, which seemed to jolt the latter gentleman to his senses.

Gripping the reigns, Black rode off abruptly.

Barty seemed unable to help the small huff that escaped him at this, shaking his head as he stared cooly after Black's retreating figure.

Remus frowned, wondering if Black had managed to cause offence in every corner of civil society — it certainly seemed that way.

* * *

Dinner and cards at the Lovegoods that night was bereft of Barty, Black or Potter, regrettably. Though Xeno happily agreed to host a larger gathering for the following evening, extending an invitation to the gentlemen of Militia — and Barty in particular — at Lydia's insistence. Strangely, both Potter and Black declined the invitation, though Barty accepted cheerfully and arrived with his a party consisting of his Colonel and many friends.

Alas, Remus found himself not in conversation with Barty, but stuck in a most uncomfortable exchange between Pettigrew and Lovegood.

"And what a charming apartment you have here, Mr. Lovegood!" Pettigrew exclaimed.

Xenophilius smiled brightly. "Thank you!"

Pettigrew continued; "Upon my word, it reminds me greatly of a small summer breakfast room at Grimmauld Place."

Lovegood stared at Pettigrew coldly. "Does it indeed, sir? I am much obliged to you, I'm sure."

Remus quickly interceded; "I'm sure that Mr. Pettigrew wishes to pay a compliment, Xeno."

"Does he? I see." Lovegood said frostily, surveying Pettigrew with sudden distaste. Xeno Lovegood had always been very proud of his accommodations, and had decorated his abode with great enthusiasm — though his tastes were not of the fashionable world.

Remus hastened to explain; "Grimmauld Place, we must understand, is very grand, indeed."

"Oh, indeed, it is!" Pettigrew exclaimed, his watery eyes going wide. "Oh, my dear Sir, if you thought that I intended any slight on your excellent, and very comfortable arrangement, I am mortified!"

Lovegood raised a single eyebrow. He did not seem wholly convinced.

"Grimmauld Place is the residence of my noble patron, Lord Phineas Nigellus Black." Pettigrew said, as if that explained everything.

Lovegood, it seemed, was happy enough to pretend that it did, if it got him out of conversation with Pettigrew. He replied, in a polite, fake-impressed voice; "Oh, now I understand."

Pettigrew, ever oblivious, continued with enthusiasm; "The chimneypiece in the second drawing-room, alone, cost eight hundred pounds."

"Now, I see, it's clear there's no offence at all." Lovegood said, eyes flickering to Remus before he added; "Mr. Pettigrew, will you oblige me and sit down to a game of whist?"

Remus could've kissed Lovegood for that. He had been stuck by Pettigrew all evening.

"I must confess, I know little of the game, Sir. But I shall be glad to improve myself!" Pettigrew said. "That is... if my fair cousin will consent to release me?"

Pettigrew turned his watery gaze to Remus, a disgustingly simpering look upon his face.

Remus smiled at Pettigrew with saccharine condescension. "With all my heart, Sir."

As Pettigrew and Lovegood took their leave, Remus could not help the small shudder that overcame him. He felt he needed a shower.

A low, drawing Scottish voice came from over his shoulder. "I see you are the object of some affection."

Remus turned to see Barty, looking very fine in his regimentals. His assured smile and bright, glinting eyes seemed like they were meant for Remus alone.

"It should not surprise me, I suppose," Barty added, eyeing Remus in that way that had not failed to make him blush once yet. "As you look very well tonight, Lupin."

"If I must call you Barty, then surely you must call me Remus." Remus replied with a bashful smile, sidestepping the compliment.

Barty seemed delighted at that, and obliged immediately. "So, Remus ," Remus liked the way Barty's accent wrapped around the long vowels of his name, "Am I to expect the announcement of your marriage to Mr. Pettigrew anytime soon?"

Remus' laugh was punched out of him. "Lord in heaven! Do not say things like that — my hair shall turn white for fear of it."

"So there are no prior attachments I ought to know about." Barty surmised, taking a half-step closer. Remus could feel the warmth of Barty's body at this distance. His heart raced, and he wondered vaguely how this must look.

"No." Remus breathed, off-kilter in the face of Barty's attentiveness. "No prior attachments to speak of."

Barty made no further enquiries, and did not move closer. Remus was both relieved and disappointed by this. Instead, Barty said in a light voice; "I must confess, I thought I should never escape your young cousins."

Remus laughed, feeling the tension of the previous moment dropping away. "They can be very determined, Lydia especially."

Barty grinned. "I wonder if I ought to tell them that I am not inclined towards women."

Remus shook his head, chuckling. "I wonder if I ought to tell you that it is unlikely to make a jot of difference to Lydia what you are inclined towards. She has always been spectacularly single-minded."

"I thank you for the warning, then. Though I must say that they're pleasant girls overall. Indeed, I find that society in Godric's Hollow quite exceeds my expectations…" Barty's gaze lingered flirtatiously on Remus, who shot the gentleman a half-exasperated look.

"You're quite the flirt, Barty." Remus said. "Perhaps you're exactly the sort of scoundrel Rosier said you were."

"Scoundrels flirt irresolutely, indiscriminately." Barty replied easily, gaze never wavering. "I promise you, my tastes are very discriminating."

Remus blushed. "You are too much."

"Forgive me my forwardness," Barty said, clearly amused by Remus' bashfulness. "You are perfectly right to keep your composure; I have always been the sort to wear my heart on my sleeve. A most terrible affliction in polite society."

Remus was caught by the openness of Barty's manner — he spoke so plainly, but didn't dip into the waters of impropriety too often. He seemed genuine and earnest in his compliments towards Remus, and he could not help but wish to know the gentleman better.

Barty changed the topic of conversation again, and again Remus only felt half-grateful for it. "I don't see Mr. Potter and his friends here this evening."

Remus snorted. "I think some of Mr. Potter's friends would consider it beneath their dignity."

This caught Barty's interest. "Really? Tell me, have you known Mr. Black long?"

Remus shook his head. "About a month."

Barty sighed heavily, his face now holding the faintest traces of weariness. "I have known him all my life. We played together as children."

Remus frowned, confused. "But—"

Barty chuckled, a humourless smile gracing his lips. "Perhaps you noticed the cold manner of our greeting?"

"I confess I did."

"Do you…" Barty started carefully. "Are you much acquainted with Mr. Black?"

"As much as I ever wish to be." Remus screwed his face up in distaste. "I've spent three days in the same house with him, and I find him most disagreeable."

Barty smiled piteously. "I fear there are few who would share in that opinion — except myself."

Remus was baffled; "But he is not at all liked in the Hollow. Everybody is disgusted with his pride!"

"Do you know…" Barty started again. "Does he intend to stay long at Peverell House?"

"I do not know, but hope his being in the neighbourhood will not affect your plans to stay." Remus said hotly, entirely forgetting himself. Belatedly, he caught himself and cursed his obviousness.

Why not just propose marriage to him outright? He thought admonishingly. Get a hold of yourself, Lupin!

"Thank you." Barty offered him a genuine smile, that made Remus' heart skip. "But it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Black. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go."

"Truly?"

"Oh, we are not on friendly terms, but I have no reason to avoid him but one: he has done me great wrong." Barty sighed. "His father, the late Mr. Orion Black, was my godfather, and one of the best men that ever breathed. My father was his steward, and when he died, old Mr. Black cared for me, provided for me, loved me, I believe, as though I were his own son."

"He sounds a wonderful man." Remus put in softly, staring at the earnest sadness that had overtaken Barty's features as he spoke of his late godfather. He thought it strange that such a good man could produce a son like Black, but he supposed that even the noblest families produced a bad seed from time to time.

Barty smiled gratefully in acknowledgement of Remus' comment, before continuing; "The late Mr. Black intended me for the church, and it was my dearest wish to enter into that profession. But after he died…and the living he had promised me fell vacant, the son refused, point blank, to honour his father's promises."

Remus paled, and stared wide-eyed at Barty. "No."

Barty shrugged, and offered Remus a forebearing grin. "And so, you see, I have to make my own way in the world."

It took Remus a moment to find the words. "This is... quite shocking. I had not thought Mr. Black as bad as this . To descend to such malicious revenge… he deserves to be publicly disgraced!"

Barty shrugged again, seemingly indifferent to the prospect. "Someday he will be, but not by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

"I wonder at the pride of this man. How abominable." Remus mulled over all that he had been told. "You are more temperate than I should be in your situation."

Indeed, Remus thought he might raze cities to the ground if he were put in such an awful position. Barty must be of a singularly gentle nature — like Lily. Remus shook his head; he was sure he would never come to understand that sort of bone-deep goodness — not if he lived to be a hundred.

"Well, I have not the resentful temper that some men have." Barty said. "And my situation, you know, is not so bad. At present, I have every cause for cheer! I can't bear to be idle, and my new profession gives me active employment. My fellow officers are excellent men, and now I find myself in a society as agreeable as any I have ever known."

Remus was expecting the meaningful glance his way this time, but blushed all the same.

Barty then added softly; "You see, I absolutely forbid you to feel sorry for me."

Lydia approached out of nowhere. "Remus? Remus, why should you feel sorry for Mr Crouch?"

Remus' mind went blank. He was certain that there were no circumstances which would sensibly allow for Lydia to be made privy of what he had just learned. He shot Barty a panicked look.

Barty covered flawlessly. "Why? Well, because I have not had a dance these three months together, that's why."

"Oh, poor Barty!" Lydia crowed, grabbing the man's hand. "Why, you shall have one now! Petunia! Petunia, play something jolly!"

Remus watched as Barty was pulled off to dance with Lydia, the gentleman glancing back at him all the while — saying plainly with his eyes that he wished he were dancing with Remus instead.

For what felt like the millionth time, Remus blushed, and set out in search of his cousin. He felt light as air, and was quite certain he needed somebody to pull him back down to the world of sense and reason — preferably before he did something truly embarrassing like fall in love.


	7. Dalliances

Remus related Barty's tale to Lily in a low, steady murmur during church — which wasn't very Christian of him.

The parish of Godric's Hollow was as devout as any other country township, but Remus had spent his formative years in the city — with a father who was more prone to teaching morality with reference to Greek and Roman myth than the Bible.

And so, as Remus recounted every particular of what Barty had told him the night previous, he felt no guilt.

Besides, nobody was paying them any attention, anyway. Least of all Mr. Pettigrew, who received the Vicar's sermon with rapt attention to detail and an expression of deference which didn't so much verge on embarrassing as it careened over the edge of it full-heartedly.

For her part, Lily cast many alarmed, sidelong glances at Remus as she listened — torn between annoyance at him for so disrespecting this House of God, and sheer mortification at the terrible nature of the charges laid at Mr. Black's feet.

"I cannot believe it, Remus." She said underbreath, between psalms. Remus was spared the obligation of replying by Petunia, who shot them a nasty, condemning look from her place beside Mr. Dursley.

When mass finally ended, and the Evans family rose from their pew and congregated in the gardens outside the church. Lily immediately began forming her reply, careful not to allow the others to overhear; "It just doesn't make any _sense_ — Mr. Black would have far too high a respect for his father's wishes to behave in such an awful manner. And, Remus, consider, how could his most intimate friends be so deceived in him?"

Remus huffed a humourless laugh. "I could more easily imagine Mr. Potter being imposed upon than to think that Barty could invent such a history!"

Lily eyed Remus shrewdly, and he felt his cheeks heat. When Lily spoke, however, it was kindly; "I believe you _like_ this Barty fellow, Remus."

Remus shuffled. "I confess, I _do_ like him." Seeing Lily's smirk, he continued almost defensively; "I do not see how anyone could _not_ like him! There is something very open and artless in his manner… He feels deeply, I believe, and yet has a natural merriment and energy despite all this." He glared at her, defiant. "So yes, Lily, I confess I like him very much."

Lily only smiled softly.

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and said in a careful tone; "But, after so short an acquaintance, do you think we should believe in him so implicitly?"

Remus' response was quick and heated; "_How_ could he be doubted? He gave me all the circumstances, Lily! Names, facts, and everything without ceremony. Besides, there was truth in all his looks." Remus paused, and then added; "And if it _isn't_ so, let Mr. Black contradict it."

"I do not think any good would come of confronting Mr. Black, Remus." Lily fretted, worrying the hem of her sleeve and biting her lip as she mulled the matter over. "It is difficult, indeed. And so distressing! One does not know what to think."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I beg your pardon; one knows _exactly_ what to think."

* * *

As if Mr. Potter's popularity in town wasn't already meteoric enough, the following week saw public opinion further bolstered by the issue of a general invitation to a ball at Peverell House.

"Just after Martinmas!" Mrs. Evans exclaimed, pouring over the letter. "The invitation includes you, Mr. Pettigrew."

Remus groaned inwardly. Mr. Pettigrew looked up from his breakfast, apparently delighted by the news but struggling to express the sentiment through the mouthful of porridge he was choking down.

Unable to fully reign in his disdainful expression, Remus asked; "But shall you accept, sir? Would it be entirely proper? Would your bishop approve?"

Remus very desperately hoped that Pettigrew would not come. _Please don't, please don't, please don't… _

"My _dear_ cousin—" Pettigrew had swallowed his porridge without further incident, and fixed Remus with a disgustingly yearning expression, "—Your scruples do you credit, but I am of the opinion that a ball of this kind, given by a man of good character to respectable people, can have no evil tendency! And I am so far from objecting to dancing myself…" Pettigrew stood abruptly, causing Remus to blink in his surprise. "That I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins during the course of the evening. And I take this opportunity of soliciting _yours…_"

Petunia looked vaguely hopeful, which struck Remus as strange, given her apparent attachment to Dursely. She was, however, to both of their chagrin, thwarted, as Mr. Pettigrew addressed Remus; "...my dear cousin, for the first _two_ dances."

Kitty and Lydia sniggered. Remus shot them an angry look, before stiffly nodding his consent. He could hardly refuse, with Mrs. Evans' beady eyes so affixed upon him.

At least he would get to see Barty at the ball. He sighed wistfully as he thought of the handsome officer, doing his utmost to ignore Mr. Pettigrew and Mrs. Evans as they carried on about how _lovely_ it was that Remus and Pettigrew would be standing up together, about how they would make such a _handsome_ pair — indeed, at this proclamation, Remus actually felt his breakfast begin to work its way back up his esophagus.

All the while, Lydia made faces at Pettigrew whenever the gentleman turned his back, and Lily agonised that she didn't have anything fine enough to wear for the occasion.

"You could turn up in a hessian sack and it wouldn't make a jot of difference to Potter, he'd still be mad in love with you." Kitty said blithely, piling her plate high with eggs and sausages. "I _bet_ he proposes before the month's out."

"Kitty, you mustn't speak so!" Lily admonished. "It is _far_ too presumptuous—"

Privately, Remus quite agreed with Kitty, but felt he should side with Lily as a matter of principle. "Come now, Kitty. No need to be so inflammatory before noon."

"I wasn't being inflammatory, I was just _saying—_"

"When you _do_ marry Potter, will you find a handsome gentleman for_ me_, will you not?" Lydia said, eyes narrowed at Lily as if daring her sister to deny her.

Mr. Pettigrew seemed disquieted by their impropriety, but Remus was beyond the point of caring what the dull clergyman thought of them. With luck, he would be so disenchanted with the family that he ran right back to his noble patron, the very illustrious _Lord Phineas Nigellus Black_, and the rectory belonged to him, once again content to be living in the long shadow cast by Grimmauld Place. With luck.

"Lydia…" Lily sounded pained.

"She shall not, for she will be too busy finding a gentleman for me!" Kitty protested. "For I am a whole year older and Lydia has boys enough in the Hollow."

"_Kitty_." Remus said sharply. He had seen the way Pettigrew's eyes had widened, scandalised, at the mention of Lydia _'having'_ multiple boys on the go. "I think we all ought to talk about something else. Now, Petunia, how was your dinner with Mr. Dursley and Ms. Trelawney last night? I've hardly heard a word about it…"

* * *

It was with some surprise that Remus received the news of Mr. Rosier, Barty, and a fellow officer named Rowle visiting Longbourn that afternoon — they had turned up without notice, and declared that all young people ought to spend some time in the sunshine. They professed that they had hoped for a lazy afternoon in the garden in the company of Remus and the other Evanses.

Blushing prettily at Barty's request for his company in particular, Remus agreed to tour the property with him. Unhappily, Mr. Pettigrew had also expressed a desire to stretch his legs, and had accompanied them.

Lily and Petunia seemed content enough indoors, but Kitty and Lydia were reliably thrilled to spend some time with Rosier and Rowle on the two-person swing that hung from the largest tree in the garden.

Pettigrew was blathering on as usual; "...And I daresay you will be able to imagine the scope of the whole, Mr. Crouch, when I tell you that the chimneypiece, alone, in the second drawing-room cost all of _eight hundred pounds_!"

Barty replied with a near-imperceptible quirk of the lip; "Eight hundred pounds? My, I hazard a guess it must be very large indeed. A behemoth among chimneypieces, no doubt."

He cast a significant glance at Remus, who only halfway succeeded at passing his giggle off as a cough.

Pettigrew, quite unaware, merely replied with enthusiasm, apparently feeling that he was at last in the presence of somebody capable of grasping the whole sheer grandiosity of Lord Phineas Nigellus Black and his residence; "It is indeed, sir!"

"His lordship is fond of a good blaze, then?"

Pettigrew was clearly not expecting this question; "Oh…"

It was then that Lily came running up to them, a bit out of breath. She had left them in the garden a half-hour previous, and was appropriately distressed to see that Remus and Barty were still being shadowed by the pesky Mr. Pettigrew. Remus felt a surge of relief at the sight of her rushing to his rescue.

_At bloody last. _

"Mr. Pettigrew! How fortunate. I must claim you for my sister, Petunia. She has found a passage in Fordyce's Sermons that she cannot make out at all."

Pettigrew blinked; "Oh, well, I-I…"

Lily stood her ground, she spoke firmly, with a set, determined expression; "I believe it is of _great doctrinal import_, sir."

Pettigrew faltered immediately; "Well… in that case."

Remus and Barty bowed and nodded their farewells, watching with satisfaction as Mr. Pettigrew trailed behind Lily into the front parlor. Remus shot Lily a grateful smile, just before the swish of her wine-red hair disappeared from view.

Remus and Barty started ambling further into the gardens, and when Barty spoke, Remus could hear the smirk in his voice; "Mr. Pettigrew's conversation is very, erm… wholesome."

They both chuckled. Remus replied; "And there is plenty to be had of it, I assure you. Have you made Mr. Potter's acquaintance yet?"

"No, but I am already disposed to approve of him." Barty said. "He's issued a general invitation to the officers for his ball at Peverell, which has caused great joy in more than one quarter."

Remus grinned; "Yes, I had heard about that. I confess I was pleased to think that I might see you there — I had no notion you planned to visit us today."

They stilled for a moment. Remus felt Barty's eyes on him, unabashed and intense.

"When Rosier suggested it, I could hardly help inviting myself along." Barty confessed, before starting to walk again. "I've been thinking about you, lately."

Remus blushed and lapsed into silence. He had been thinking about Barty, too. More than he felt he ought to.

"Potter must be a very amiable gentleman." Barty said, after a spell.

"Oh, yes." Remus agreed lightly. "He is eager to approve of everyone he meets, but he is a sensible man with taste and judgement." He frowned. "I wonder how Mr. Black could impose upon him — he _cannot_ know what Mr. Black is."

"Probably not." Barty shrugged. "Mr Black can please what he chooses, if he thinks it worth his while. Among his equals in wealth and consequence, he can be liberal-minded, honourable… even agreeable."

Remus scoffed and shook head; "I wonder that you can speak of him so tolerantly."

Barty shrugged again, and said fairly; "He's not wholly bad."

These words reminded Remus of his time at Peverell House, and of the diligence with which Black had written to his brother — had his name been Regulus?

Black had seemed very devoted to his sibling and ward. Remus wondered what the younger Mr. Black was like. He pictured a sallow youth, smaller than his elder brother, with drawn complexion, hunched over a desk in a grand, stuffy room which had the curtains drawn tight.

Miss McKinnon had remarked that the youth had some talent with the pianoforte, and Remus imagined him playing brooding concertos in the dark, by himself. It was simply impossible to imagine Black having social, agreeable relations.

"Tell me, what sort of lad is the younger Mr. Black?" Remus asked, unable to stifle his piqued curiosity.

"Well, I wish I could call him amiable." Barty sighed. "As a child, he was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me. And I devoted hours to his amusement." Barty seemed to slip into a reverie**_, _**eyes unfocused as he lost himself in memories. Remus could not tell if they were pleasant or not. "...But he has grown too much like his brother, very…very proud. I never see him now."

Remus frowned. "Whyever not? Surely not because of the sins of the eldest?"

"Since his father's death, Regulus' home has been in London." Barty explained. "He is sixteen. Your cousin Lydia's age."

"Lydia is fifteen." Remus corrected, causing Barty to raise his eyebrows.

Remus and Barty paused to watch Lydia and Kitty for a moment, they were laughing as Rosier pushed them on the swing. As they watched, Kitty jumped off and tumbled into the waiting arms of Rowle, who flushed red but looked very well-pleased all the same. Barty and Remus chuckled, and turned back towards the house. The garden was not large, and they had been circling it aimlessly for some time now.

"I was amused by your cousin's reference to Lord Phineas." Barty said, head bowed towards Remus. "He is Mr. Black's uncle, you know, and his ward, Bellatix, is destined to be Mr. Black's bride."

Remus started; "Really?!"

This was a shock — Remus had thought that Black preferred men, and said as much to Barty; "I had it from Potter that he didn't go for ladies."

"Indeed, he does not." Crouch chuckled, with a little bit of an edge. "But Lord Phineas is determined to have him for a son-in-law, and cares little for Black's proclivities." Barty gave a little half-shrug. "It is that sort of family."

Remus mulled this information over and chuckled, shaking his head. "Poor Miss McKinnon. She's not a hope in the world of seducing Black."

"I rather wonder why she bothers." Barty mused idly. "Black's preferences are common knowledge in that circle… or so I had thought."

"Well, I've never known Black to prefer _anyone_." Remus said. "Honestly, I don't think he has looked upon a lad the entire time he has been here... except to find a fault, of course." _He is tolerable, I suppose. _Black's words rang unpleasantly in Remus' ears. _But not handsome enough to tempt me… _

Remus' expression soured at the memory. _Abominable cad. _

"You'd be surprised." Barty said, tone light and offhand. "Why, in University, I seem to recall he liked boys with your sort of look."

Remus laughed at the ridiculousness of the prospect; "_My_ sort of look?"

"You know," Barty's eyes darkened as they roved Remus' form. "Lithe, and pretty, and fair."

Remus could not resist shoving Barty lightly in the shoulder, a raging blush upon his cheeks. "Don't tease me."

"Indeed, I do not!" Barty proclaimed in mock-affront, his hand splayed across his heart dramatically. "For you are very beautiful, Remus, and I am not afraid to admit it. And Black _did_ have dalliances with boys who shared a likeness with you, though none quite so fine — _that_ is a fact."

_Dalliances?_

It was frowned upon, but hardly unusual, for gentlemen to take up with each other out of wedlock. A lad could be ruined, as surely as a lady could be, if word of such activities became public knowledge. But, more often than not, what happened behind closed doors was allowed to stay there.

Remus should not have been surprised that Black had taken this path — there was nothing inherently surprising about it, after all, excepting for the fact that somebody as disagreeable as Black could talk a man into his bed in the first instance.

Then again, Black was very rich.

_Perhaps he pays for it? _

Even for Remus, the thought felt uncharitable. He pushed it away and resolved to think no more of Black's checkered romantic dealings. They were no business of his, and it was singularly unchristian to judge, given that Remus himself had indulged in a dalliance or two of his own — in the past.

Barty, oblivious to Remus' musings, carried on; "I am certain that, given the opportunity, he would pursue _you_, Remus."

Remus' eyebrows flew up. "It cannot be so." He huffed, displeased with the mere suggestion of it. "Black _despises_ me, and besides, I despise him just as much."

"For your breeding, perhaps, he would not _marry_ you." Barty conceded. "But there are many gentlemen who see no issue with a discrete bit of buggery between neighboring social classes."

Remus eyed Barty warily. "I am not one such gentleman."

It was not strictly untrue, but Remus was not telling the whole of it.

He'd had _experiences_ — perhaps that was the best way to put it. But they all fell short of the arrangement Barty now described.

First had been a good-looking stablehand under Lovegood; they'd hardly done more than kiss and fumble about with their belts. Then it had been a very vain lad called Gilderoy, who Remus had grown tired of in less than a day. Beauty, it transpired, could not redeem such serious deficits of character.

Then, he had been pursued rather aggressively, by a gentleman called Greyback — with him, Remus had gone rather further than kissing, but had the sense to call the whole thing off before he jeopardised his reputation in earnest. Remus had been relieved when at last Greyback had left town, announcing his intention to go north and never return.

But all of those dalliances had stopped shy of buggery, because Remus _was_ sensible, after all, and he knew better than to tarnish his good name — because no matter how low your status, it was always possible to sink lower.

It wouldn't do any good to drag dusty old romances back into the light of day, he decided. Barty would get the wrong idea about him.

"I would not have thought so." Barty assured him. "Neither am I. Though, I won't pretend I haven't ever been _tempted_. Indeed, at present, I feel I am being positively _tortured_."

"Barty—"

"You are too beautiful, Remus." Barty said plainly. "I turn into a fool the very moment I enter into your company. I cannot help what I say."

"I beg you to at least _try_." Remus said, unable to suppress a pleased grin at the thought that he actually might turn Barty silly with want. It had been a while, he mused, since he had felt so thoroughly admired. Maybe he never had been — not _really_, not like this. With somebody who was, all at once, kind _and_ clever _and_ handsome.

"I only mention Black's history because I want you to be _safe_, Remus," Barty said, growing earnest and serious. "I would not wish for you to be taken advantage of."

Remus scoffed at the thought. "I wouldn't touch Black if he was the last man on earth." He said. "That, I can safely promise you."

Barty paused, and then a wry grin crossed his face; "And would you touch _me_, if I was the last man on earth?"

Remus shook his head, and sighed ruefully. "Alas, I think I'd be too busy scolding you for your abominable manners to bother much with touching you."

Privately, however, Remus thought that he would. He _absolutely_ would.


	8. The Ball

Sirius paced the length of his accommodations in Peverell House, staring out of the vast window that opposed the grand mahogany bed he had been languishing on all afternoon.

The dusky orange sunset made the room glow amber, and Sirius fiddled with his cravat, loosening it.

He looked good — he knew he looked good, he always did - but still his stomach writhed and flipped in nauseating anxiety regarding the night ahead. It was bad enough that the entirety of this uncivilised and irrelevant township hated him, but everything was made worse by the simple fact that in less than an hour from now, he'd see Lupin.

Lupin, who held himself with such grace and dignity, Lupin, who laughed at him without fear, Lupin, who always seemed to have something clever or interesting to say, no matter the company or occasion.

Sirius wished he could talk like that. But perhaps it was a disservice to call what Lupin did talking ; surely it was better called a seduction — spellcraft, magic even. Lupin weaved words together effortlessly with that lilting, low voice of his, lips and tongue curling to form soft vowels and hard consonants in a mesmerising, rhythmic sequence which made Sirius' own tongue feel heavy and stupid in his mouth.

And, worse still, layered underneath the pleasant cadence of his voice was actual meaning . Lupin never wasted breath — he was all use and insight.

Sirius' chest ached. He threw himself into an armchair by the window, loose-limbed and hapless as he pondered the object of his growing affections. He huffed out a short breath of frustration, at which point James burst into the room without ceremony.

"Padfoot! I'm so desperately confused, please advise me, which do you like better? The crimson or the gold?"

Sirius turned his head with what felt like a monumental effort, and surveyed with mild disdain the sight of his half-dressed friend, who carried a waistcoat in each arm.

"The gold is too much," Sirius said boredly, turning his attention back out the window. "Positively garish. I'd go with the crimson."

"Gold it is," James said smugly, discarding the crimson on Sirius' bed and slipping the gold waistcoat on.

"I wonder why you bother asking me anything, sometimes."

"I often wonder the same," James said agreeably. "Really, you have no flair when you're out of your element, Padfoot. I always know to do the opposite of whatever you say when you're in a mood."

"I am not in a mood," Sirius said crossly — nay, moodily .

James chuckled. "Alright." He surveyed Sirius a moment. "You look especially nice tonight." He remarked.

It was true — Sirius had set aside his fine grey tails for a very handsome navy set. Underneath, he wore a waistcoat of the palest blue, almost white. And though the current fashion was for cream pantaloons, Sirius had opted for black — which he felt better suited his figure and general mood.

"I always look nice." Sirius sniffed, choosing not to disclose that he had agonised for hours over what to wear - thinking each time, 'would Lupin think I look well in this? ', before angrily discarding his outfit in favour of another. His valet — Cattermole — had looked so thoroughly dispirited by the end of the ordeal, that Sirius thought the man would sooner throw himself in the lake than dress him again.

"Yes," James said patiently. "But usually you manage that without trying terribly hard. Today you look like you're trying ."

"Ought I change?" Sirius wondered self-consciously, running a hand through his hair. "If you think I look a fool you had better just say so, Potter." Sirius shifted uncomfortably and glared at his friend. "It will not do to be publicly embarrassed, let alone in society such as this ."

"You strike a fine figure, I beg you not to change," James said. "Least of all because poor Cattermole will keel over if you do."

"Hmph."

"You're such a woman." James scoffed, admiring the fit of the gold waistcoat in Sirius' mirror. "Getting into a tizzy about your clothes — I didn't think you cared for the good opinion of anybody in the Hollow. Isn't that what you've been grumbling all month long?"

"I don't care."

James shot Sirius a disbelieving look. "I saw you talking to Lupin, you know."

"I spoke to Lupin? Pray, when was this?" As if Sirius could forget — Lupin had refused to dance with him at that farcical country spectacle a seven-night previous, and then he had come to live with Sirius, of all things.

"When he spent three days under the same roof as you," James rolled his eyes, "As you very well know, you great bloody pillock."

Sirius huffed.

"You might get on better if you bothered to be nice ," James suggested gently. "I know perfectly well you're capable of it. It wouldn't hurt to show Lupin you're not entirely hopeless."

Sirius mulled over the suggestion. Perhaps it wasn't a totally ludicrous idea, to make a little more effort with Lupin. Just to see if that helped at all — an innocent experiment, nothing more. It didn't have to be courtship or nothing, after all. Sirius could satisfy his curiosity about the man, and get this silly infatuation out of his system once and for all.

"I'll take it under advisement."

* * *

For all of Lily's fussing about what to wear, she turned up at Peverell House on the night of the ball looking nothing short of resplendent.

Her dress was blue woven silk, patterned with a silver floral trellis design — the finest thing she owned, which she had bought for a friend's wedding last year and swore she'd never get the chance to wear again — and little white flowers were set in her hair, the small glimpses of green from the stems and the tiny leaves bringing out the verdant of her eyes. There was a sheer radiance to Lily — the sort that made people fumble over their tongues and pause in mid-sentence to stare. Next to Lily, it was impossible to be thought of as really, truly beautiful — especially on a night like tonight.

Remus, trailing in her wake, knew that he looked well, too. But it was very much like comparing a field daisy to a huge, glittering diamond.

He'd bought new tails from the tailors — blue, close to that which Lily wore, inviting further unfavourable comparison, though the shade suited him well enough. He had paired the coat with cream breeches and a grey waistcoat. An antique pocketwatch, belonging to his father, glinted dimly in the evening candlelight. Remus looked well enough to merit a polite compliment. Which was perfectly fine — it was far better than Petunia's lot, or Kitty's or Lydia's, for that matter.

Remus had no sooner pulled off his overcoat and taken Lily's from her hands, before Potter appeared before them, looking very much like he had been hit over the head with an oar.

"Miss Evans." He croaked, and then, seeming to hear himself, coughed. "I, erm… You look... blimey—"

"What my hapless friend means, Lily darling, is that you look simply splendid tonight." Miss McKinnon swayed into view, rolling her eyes at the still-agog Mr. Potter.

Miss Meadowes appeared at her side, and said politely to Lily; "It is good to see you so well-recovered, Miss Evans."

Lily thanked them, though her eyes lingered on Potter. She was blushing prettily, and smiling, and Potter looked as though he was having a religious experience.

After briefly offering his compliments to the trio, Remus took the opportunity to slip away. He did not intend to spend the whole night in their society. Three days in the same house — the very one in which he now stood — had been enough to last Remus a lifetime.

He scanned the ballroom, searching vainly for Barty, but could see no sign of him. He spied Black, though, who was standing by the refreshments and staring at Remus, the way he always was nowadays.

Remus just barely managed to swallow his anger — the man's reprehensible behaviour towards Barty fresh in his mind. He met Black's eyes for a fraction of a second, and then turned abruptly in further search of better company.

Shouldn't be hard. Remus thought. A pit of angry snakes would qualify.

Though he had no luck in locating Barty, he did eventually come across Emmeline.

"Vance!" Remus exhaled in relief, offering Emmeline his arm and steering them towards the refreshments. If ever there was a night for wine, it was tonight. "Lord in heaven, I have so much to tell you—"

"Cousin Remus!"

Pettigrew appeared before them quite unexpectedly - Remus had thought, hoped, that the clergyman would have been detained by the others longer than this .

He winced. "Mr. Pettigrew."

"I was wondering where you had gotten off to—"

"May I introduce my good friend, Miss Emmeline Vance?" Remus cut across Pettigrew, who looked like he was winding up for a long one. Emmeline bowed politely and shot Remus a curious look.

"Charming!" Pettigrew said with undue enthusiasm. "I am delighted to meet any friend of yours, dear cousin!"

Emmeline's curiosity seemed to grow; she glanced between Remus and Pettigrew. "Cousin?"

"This is Mr. Pettigrew, he is related to Mr. Evans and a cousin to all his daughters." Remus said. "And so, you see, he is my cousin on my mother's side. The side of little consequence."

"Little consequence!" Pettigrew exclaimed. "I beg you be kinder to yourself, Remus. For I have heard it said many a time that you are as good as a son to Mr. Evans."

"If that were so, sir, then I would be inheriting Longbourn, and you would have had no cause to leave your parsonage." Remus replied in a clipped voice.

Emmeline's eyebrows rose higher and Pettigrew spluttered an apology of sorts.

"Forgive me, dear cou—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Pettigrew, but I think I see Mr. Lovegood. I must go and congratulate him, he won the local gardening contest last Tuesday, you know. Splendid roses — never knew they could be bred in so many colours."

Not waiting for a response, Remus swept off. Emmeline, gracious as ever, engaged Mr. Pettigrew in conversation to forestall his coming after him.

As he fled, Remus felt a pit of dread growing in his belly — he could only put off Mr. Pettigrew so long, given that he had already claimed Remus for the first two dances.

* * *

Remus was not long free of Pettigrew's company when he happened across Rosier.

"Evening, Lupin," Rosier bowed. "You're looking remarkably well tonight."

Remus bowed and smiled in return. "Thank you, Rosier."

" I am instructed to convey to you, Lupin, Barty's most particular regrets that he's been prevented from attending the ball. He's been obliged to go to town on the matter of urgent business," Rosier paused, and sent a sly glance over his shoulder, where Black was lurking. "Though I don't imagine it would have been so urgent if he'd not wished to avoid a certain gentleman."

Remus followed Rosier's gaze and felt his insides turn to ice as his eyes met the piercing grey of Black's. The contact was broken, however when Lydia and Kitty ran up to them, pulling a flustered Diggory along with them.

"Rosier, I hope you've come prepared to dance with us tonight!"

"Forgive the intrusion, sir," Diggory said quickly. "I would dance with both your cousins at once if I could, but as it is…"

"Oh, never mind that." Lydia waved a hand. "Come on, Rosier."

Lydia grabbed Rosier's arm and dragged him away. Kitty took Diggory's arm and dragged him along after them, just as he was attempting to politely bow a farewell to Remus.

Remus, now alone, chuckled to himself. He tried to ignore the sharp pang of disappointment that came from knowing that he would not see Barty tonight. All at once, he felt a little foolish for having made such an effort with his appearance. He tugged on the hem of his waistcoat self-consciously.

He had a feeling that tonight would be a trial of his fortitude in more ways than one.

* * *

"And who is that ?" Sirius demanded sourly of Miss McKinnon, nodding at the squat, ugly fellow who had resolutely attached himself to Lupin from the moment the party had first arrived.

Lupin looked beautiful tonight — even more beautiful than usual. Sirius did not think he had ever known a man to wear a pair of breeches so well. Indeed, his admiration of Lupin's tightly-tailored trousers made the snug fit of his own somewhat dangerous.

It was criminal, Sirius thought, that anybody could look so tempting without having any idea of it.

Miss McKinnon glanced in the direction indicated. "Oh, that's Mr. Pettigrew. Mr. Evans' nephew, he is to inherit their estate." Miss McKinnon smirked at that small reminder of the Evanses poor fortune, and then added; "He's a clergyman, I believe."

Sirius' eyes narrowed as he watched the way that Pettigrew's arm hovered at Lupin's back, not quite touching, but still entirely too close for Sirius' liking. "And what business does he have with Lupin?"

Miss McKinnon shrugged. "I can only think that he was working up to make Mr. Lupin an offer. Dorcas had it from Ms. Trelawney that there was some partiality on Pettigrew's side." Her nose screwed up in distaste. "Though I hardly know why ."

"Indeed," Sirius muttered, almost entirely to himself. "Lupin would surely never dream of accepting him ."

Miss McKinnon's expression, which was slightly taken aback, made Sirius think that he might have mistaken her meaning.

"What?" Sirius demanded, rounding on her. "You can't possibly think that Lupin would actually accept that ugly little troll?"

Sirius thought of Remus' soft curls and warm eyes and easy smiles, of the way his lips wrapped around all the clever words he said — the owner of those glorious curls and eyes and lips could surely never run afoul of somebody as wholly uninspiring as this Pettigrew.

"Pettigrew is very eligible." Miss McKinnon said, ignoring Sirius' snort of disbelief. "Lupin, as you very well know, has no fortune, and no prospects." Miss McKinnon sniffed. "If he knows what's good for him, he will accept Pettigrew gladly."

Sirius stared at Lupin. "He won't." He said firmly, willing his words true with the sheer force of his conviction. "He won't accept. He won't marry."

"At all?" Miss McKinnon mused. "Well, I suppose I can see him as the bachelor type."

It was not what Sirius meant, but he had not the inclination to correct Miss McKinnon — the music had started, and Pettigrew had led a resigned-looking Lupin onto the polished floor alongside the other couples. They stepped into the dance lines and bowed to each other.

"They're going to dance," Sirius said with a faint note of disbelief. " Lupin . Lupin and that— that—"

Miss McKinnon's eyebrow quirked, and she supplied; "That clergyman?"

Sirius growled, eyes burning a hole in the back of Pettigrew's head. 'Clergyman' was not the word he would have used.

He'll dance with that oaf, but he won't dance with me. Sirius thought bitterly, and it was perfectly true; Lupin had already refused to dance with Sirius — twice .

It rankled - the insult of being denied by a man who now stood up with what was plainly the most hideous gentleman in the county. Him? He thought with no small measure of incredulity . Why him, and not me?

If he was honest, it did not sit well with Sirius to see Remus stand up with another man at all, let alone an ugly one. He did not know precisely why — beyond the fact that he had developed a peskily stubborn crush on the man, and obsessed over his amber eyes and lithe figure more than he personally cared to admit — but he felt as though he might actually die if he never got the chance to dance with Lupin.

Especially now that the ugly preacher has claimed the honour.

As it transpired, Sirius needn't have felt much jealousy over Lupin dancing with Pettigrew. As the number commenced, and the couples began to move, it became quite apparent that Pettigrew was perhaps the worst dancer that Sirius had ever seen. He hopped awkwardly, providing a sharp point of contrast to Lupin, who moved with light-footed grace. There was an aloofness to Lupin's body-language which Sirius noted had not been present the other times he had watched him dancing — he did not seem to want to be nearer to Pettigrew than was strictly necessary.

Sirius watched with some small satisfaction as Pettigrew took a wrong turn and Remus hissed at him to come and take his correct place — exasperation was evident in every line of his face. He smiled. It could not have been plainer that Lupin all but despised his dancing partner, and that thought gave Sirius solace more than anything else.

Remus Lupin's vexation at Pettigrew was nothing short of delicious to behold. Sirius felt his mood lightening somewhat, his agitation giving way to a strange mixture of hope and resolve.

Heart pounding with anticipation, Sirius formed a plan. He would ask. And this time, this time, Lupin would say yes.

* * *

Dancing with Pettigrew was worse than Remus could have ever imagined. The lack of grace Pettigrew displayed in everyday life was somehow amplified in the dance-hall, where he made every possible miss-step and fumble. At one point Pettigrew actually collided with Remus directly, pushing him back into a bemused-looking Mr. Lovegood, who Remus had muttered a harried apology before moving back into his place.

As the first dance came to a close, Remus groaned inwardly at the thought that he had a whole second turn to suffer thought.

Anything. I would give **anything **to be whisked away, or taken ill, or, heavens, even struck by lightning, if it meant I didn't have to dance another with this insufferable, wrong-footed **idiot… **

Salvation came in an unexpected form, as salvation often does. As the first dance came to a close, Remus found himself faced with two of his least favourite people in the world — Black and McKinnon.

"Mr. Lupin." Black bowed stiffly, not acknowledging Pettigrew in the least. "Would you do me the honour of dancing the next?"

"Well, you see, I've already—"

"Miss McKinnon has expressed a desire to borrow your friend, she has a pressing question about Fordyce's sermons which she tells me cannot wait," Black said quickly. Judging by the expression on Miss McKinnon's face, Remus rather thought that this was news to her. "I hope you will oblige us."

Remus' gaze flickered rapidly between Pettigrew and Black. On one hand, he hated Black, and had sworn never to stand up with him.

On the other, his foot was still throbbing from where Pettigrew had stepped on it, and he desperately wished to avoid the humiliation of standing up with him again.

"Well— I—" Remus stopped, and sighed. Black, for all his breeding, might have some hope of knowing the steps, at least. "I thank you, yes."

Pettigrew was entirely too much in awe of Miss McKinnon — who was, after all, rather more important than he could ever hope to be — to put up much of a fight. He did not seem to realise the disrespect that Black showed in sweeping in to steal his partner at the last possible moment without ceremony or apology — though Remus rather thought it was for the best that he remained oblivious. Miss McKinnon swept Pettigrew away after a short introduction was made, and Remus noted that the lady looked only slightly more resigned than angry. He suspected that Miss McKinnon would not have done it for anybody other than Black.

Remus' attention was then refocused on the current situation — which he found to be only a half-shade better than his previous one — by Black's proffered arm.

"The music is starting," Black said stiffly.

Grudgingly, Remus took his arm and fell into place. The first notes of Mr. Beveridge's Maggot floated over from the musician's gallery.

As he and Black began to circle each other in time to the music, palms lightly touching, Remus was reminded forcibly of some kind of apex predator. For Black was dark, and watchful, and there was the shadow of something very intent and very hungry in the way his gaze fixed upon Remus as they moved.

He did not know what to make of it.

As they danced Remus was struck, perhaps for the first time, by Black's fortunate appearance. The gentleman looked especially well tonight, finely-clothed, though he was as sullen and disagreeable as ever.

Remus thought that if Black were not so mean-spirited, he would be able to secure the affections of just about anyone — his raven hair fell in loose, glossy curls, ending just above his shoulder, and his eyes… well, Remus was not blind. Black's eyes were remarkably striking, and his features handsome.

He was striking in a very different way to Remus — Remus knew himself to be fine in the common way, his charms greatly improved by his warmth and grace and liveliness. Whereas there was a certain regality in stillness to Black — he was not merely handsome, he was expensive .

Expensive, and cold, and untouchable. The perfect balance of beauty and distance; the very sort that people tended to lose their sense over.

Such a shame. Remus thought. That you should be the most insufferable man in all England.

Black, unaware of this internal dialogue, only continued to stare at Remus with almost alarming intensity. Remus wished he would stop, the tension was growing thick between them, and Remus wasn't sure he entirely understood everything that was currently at work between them.

"I believe we must have a little conversation, Mr. Black." Remus said as they looped each other, crossing in front of another couple. "A very little will suffice."

Black's answering silence caused Remus to roll his eyes as they looped and crossed again. They stepped around each other, and Remus was struck by how well Black danced when he bothered to. He had thought Black must have been bad, as he had refused so stalwartly to stand up with anybody before now.

Black cleared his throat, and spoke tentatively; "Do you talk by rule, then, when you are dancing?"

The couples formed rows, and Remus and Sirius joined hands with those on either side of them.

Remus laughed. "Yes, sometimes it is best. Then we may enjoy the advantage of saying as little as possible."

Remus and Sirius turned clockwise, and then counter-clockwise, holding hands. Remus felt a strange tug of something in his stomach at Black's firm touch.

Black huffed. "Do you consult your own feelings in this case, or seek to gratify mine?"

"Both, I imagine."

They looped and crossed again. "We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak unless we are expected to say something that will amaze the whole room."

Black replied with a sardonic drawl; "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I'm sure."

Remus bit back the temptation to say that he had just said that, idiot . He rolled his eyes again and descended into stony silence.

Black, it seemed, noticed this withdrawal. His eyes, alight with curiosity, stayed infuriatingly focused on Remus' face. Remus swore he saw the man open and close his mouth a few times, as if to speak.

"I was thinking of you the other day." Black said haltingly, and then, seeing the shock on Remus' face, rushed to clarify; "I was re-reading the Iliad ."

"Ah." Remus regarded Black curiously — they were circling each other again, palms pressed together. "It is a fine read." That seemed safe an innocuous enough a comment to make.

"Indeed." Black said. "It reminds me very much of my school years, books are like that, I suppose. They take you back to who you were when you first read them."

Remus blinked, surprised by the insight. "Yes, I suppose they do."

"Who were you? Er—" Black cleared his throat. "I mean, rather, how old were you? When you first read the Iliad ?"

Remus regarded Black as they circled each other, trying to figure out his intentions in asking. It was, as far as Remus could tell, a polite and genuine enquiry. It did, therefore, puzzle him exceedingly. For Remus was sure that he and Black were not friends.

"I was nine." Remus said, and then, for reasons he did not fully understand, added; "I had just lost my parents, and I was not yet comfortable at Longbourn — I acted out an awful lot at first, terrorised Petunia, broke anything I could get my hands on... Mr. Evans came across me in the garden making trouble, and asked me into his study. I thought I was going to get the cane." Remus laughed at the memory. "But he only asked if I'd like him to read to me. Told me to pick one from the shelves and come sit by the chair."

Black did not respond straight away; Remus had the impression that he was weighing his words carefully.

"And you chose that book?" Sirius asked haltingly. "Very advanced for a nine-year-old."

"I remember my father reading it." Remus shrugged. "I suppose I wanted to feel close to him."

Sirius' answering silence was long, his gaze more searching and contemplative than ever. Eventually, it was Remus who was forced to break the tension, unbearably discomforted by the fact that he had willingly shared with Black some small piece of himself.

"And you?" He asked, voice tight. "How old were you?"

Sirius regarded him. "Thirteen." He eventually answered. "My tutor recommended it."

Remus found there was not much else to ask, and the conversation died once again. They danced, forming lines and crossing over other couples and circling, for what felt like an age.

When will this bloody dance end?

It then occurred to Remus that he had questions of his own to ask; "I remember hearing you once say that you hardly ever forgave; that your resentment, once created, was implacable." He started cautiously. "You are very careful, are you not, in allowing your resentment to be created?"

"I am."

"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?" Remus queried, nearly managing to sound wholly innocent in his enquiry. He was determined to better understand how Black managed to justify treating Barty in such an awful manner.

"I hope not." Black frowned. "May I ask to which these questions tend?"

They held hands, circling, and Remus smiled sweetly as he answered; "Merely to the illustration of your character. I am trying to make it out."

Black looked wary now. "And what is your success?"

Remus chuckled. "I do not get on at all! I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly."

Blessedly, finally , the dancers returned to starting positions and bowed as the song ended. The couples held hands, and Sirius led Remus off the dance floor.

"I wish, Mr. Lupin, that you would not attempt to sketch my character at the present moment." Black dropped Remus' hand. "I fear the performance would reflect no credit on either of us."

Remus smiled, tilting his head slightly as he answered; "But if I don't take your likeness now, I may never get another opportunity."

Black stared at Remus for a long time, and Remus fought the violent urge to fidget in his nervousness.

At length, Black said; "I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours."

Black bowed sharply and swept away, leaving Remus half-sunk into his own answering bow, and exceedingly puzzled. Black had been — nice? No, that wasn't quite it. But he had seemed, well, interested .

He shook his head in disbelief. It was a mad thought — for Remus knew very well that Black hated him every bit as much as he hated Black.


	9. The Ball II

Miss Marlene McKinnon was having an awful night.

First, she had been forced to suffer through an uninspiring sermon from Mr. Pettigrew, who frequently detoured from the point to rhapsodise about the very fine upholstery on this one particular armchair at Grimmauld Place, or some such rubbish about a fireplace which she had failed to see the significance of. Then she had been forced to bear witness to the wholly farcical display of Mr. Black standing up with Lupin, of all people.

That was nothing, however, to her disquiet at what happened next.

Dorcas — her dearest, darling Dorcas — was dancing with a man .

And not an old man, or a married one, for the sake of politeness and propriety. An eligible one.

Mr. Amos Diggory, he was called. Marlene thought she had never heard a name as wholly ridiculous as Diggory .

Diggory. Dig-dig-diggety. She mocked silently, drinking deeply from her cup of wine. Stupid name .

She watched, hawk-like, as Dorcas danced with Mr. Diggory, and could not quite hide her chagrin when Dorcas finally made her way back to her side.

"Such a lovely night, isn't it?" Dorcas smiled brilliantly, puffed from the fast pace of the dancing.

"If you say so." Marlene sniffed, and then, unable to stop herself, added; "Why on earth would you dance with Daggety?"

"Diggory." Dorcas corrected, eyeing her warily. "He is very kind, and very handsome. I was pleased that he asked me."

"And I suppose you will be just as pleased when he proposes?" Marlene snorted. "Honestly, you're so ridiculous. Standing up in society such as this… "

"It was just a dance , Marlene." Dorcas said, her voice quavering a little. "But I'll have you know that Diggory is very respectable — I should be lucky to receive such an offer."

"And you'll be Mrs. Dorky Dibget for the rest of your days." Marlene said icily. "Congratulations."

"Well, I'll have to sort something out for myself, won't I?" Dorcas looked a little like she might cry. "It's hardly like you'll have time for me once you're Mrs. Black ."

There was a sharp pang in Marlene's chest at that. "Shut up."

"Not that he'll have you, anyway," Dorcas continued, angry tears now very much visible. Marlene prayed that they were not overheard. "Everybody knows he desires other men. Everybody ."

" So ?" Marlene hissed, pulling Dorcas by the arm into a shadowy alcove, lest they were happened across and interfered with. "What do I care what he wants? Nobody cares about what I want, after all — "

"I care." Dorcas said, her voice cracking. "I care, you know I do."

Marlene stared at her friend — at her deep blue eyes, swimming with tears. The flush of her cheeks and her bitten lips. Marlene welled up with feeling, overflowed with it — Dorcas was so beautiful, so good to her. Marlene was never so happy as when she had her close. It made her ache, but it was a good ache. Now, Marlene wondered what it would be like to be closer still — glorious, surely? Honey-sweet and perfect and —

God, she wanted to kiss her.

No sooner had the thought hit Marline than she returned to her senses. She jumped back from Dorcas — whom she had been steadily edging towards — as though she had received a nasty shock.

"We should return to the party." She said tightly. "People will talk if we are missed."

Marlene did not wait for a reply before sweeping away. If she had, she might have noticed the way Dorcas' face all but cracked open with sorrow — tears finally welling over with a muffled sob.

She also might have noticed the way Dorcas' eyes followed her across the room; hopeless and loving and desperately sad.

As it was, Marlene did not see any of that. What she did see, as she charged across the ballroom as though speed alone would help her escape her tricky feelings, was the eternal thorn in her side — Mr. Remus Lupin.

* * *

Remus huffed and cast his gaze over the guests seated and standing around dining tables filled with food. Nowhere could he spy somebody significant enough to pull him out of conversation with the rapidly approaching Miss McKinnon.

" So , Mr. Lupin."

Remus sighed. " So , Miss McKinnon."

"I hear you're quite delighted with that philandering Barty Jr." Miss McKinnon said. "No doubt he forgot to tell you, among his other communications, that he is merely the son of Crouch Snr, the late Mr. Black's steward ." Miss McKinnon paused to chuckled haughtily. "But Lupin, as a friend , let me recommend you not to give credit to all his assertions. Crouch treated Black in an infamous manner."

He barely made eye-contact as he answered her. "Has he? How?"

"Oh, Don't remember the particulars…" Miss McKinnon waved off the question. "But I do know that Mr. Black was not in the least to blame." Miss McKinnon surveyed Remus with unmistakable smugness. "I pity you, Lupin, for the discovery of your favourite's guilt; but, really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better."

Remus knew he ought to bite his tongue. No good could come of arguing with Miss McKinnon.

The self-satisfied smirk she wore as she disparaged Barty, however, was too much to bear. Remus heard the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had much of a chance to stop them.

"His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same." He said tightly. "I've heard you accuse him of being nothing worse than the son of Mr. Black's steward, and he informed me of that himself."

"Beg your pardon." Miss McKinnon turned cold in an instant. "Excuse my interference. It was kindly meant."

Miss McKinnon walked away from Remus, clearly offended. Remus sighed heavily and headed for the punch bowl. He had a sudden, overpowering thirst.

This night is never going to end. I shall surely be trapped in this ballroom until the end of time.

Lily, noticing Remus' ire, walked over to join him in getting something to drink.

" Insolent girl ." Remus hissed through gritted teeth.

" Remus ." Lily chided.

"I see nothing in her paltry attack but her own wilful ignorance!"

"Yes, but Remus," Lily started, a soothing hand on Remus' shoulder. "Mr. Potter did say — though he does not know the whole of the history — that he fears Barty is by no means a respectable young man."

"Does he know Barty himself?"

"No." Lily admitted. "Not at all."

"Then he has had his account from Mr. Black! I've not the least doubt Mr Potter's sincerity. Of course he would believe his friend, and it does him credit. But as to the other two gentlemen…" Remus huffed and shook his head. "I should venture to think of them both as I did before."

Lily sighed, but did not argue the point. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Mr. Potter calling out from from across the room.

"Shall we not have some music? I have a great desire for a song!" He turned to Miss McKinnon, "Miss McKinnon, can we persuade — "

But Petunia was already halfway sat in the stool of the pianoforte. She rearranged the skirts of her frilly salmon dress and straightened her back to play.

Lily and Remus shared a wince.

"Oh." Mr. Potter seemed momentarily lost for words. "Miss Petunia Evans. I see you have anticipated me."

Petunia began to play, poorly, and followed this with even poorer singing.

" Sluuu-mber dear maid — "

Lily paled and cast a horrified glance Remus' way. He could do little but return her look - eyes widening in alarm.

Miss McKinnon, who had begun to rise from her seat at Mr. Potter's cut off request to play, walked stiffly over to where Mr. Black stood. At the sound of Petunia's poor singing, Black frowned and poured himself a large measure of scotch, exchanging significant glances with Miss McKinnon.

Remus' stomach writhed with embarrassment at the poor display Petunia was putting on.

" Greeee-en bows wi-i-ill cover thee — "

Miss McKinnon and Mr. Black began whispering to each other, offended by the spectacle. Potter merely look discomforted, but attempted an obliging sort of smile.

Mr. Evans put his head in his hands, wearied, while Mrs. Evans hummed along with Petunia's tune, seemingly oblivious to its painful sound.

Next to him, Lily started. "Remus, look!" She whispered urgently.

Mr. Pettigrew was making a beeline for Mr. Black and Miss McKinnon, who plainly did not wish to be interrupted.

Lily worried her bottom lip. "Have they even been introduced?"

"Uh…" Remus thought back. "Sort of. But I cannot think what Pettigrew means by charging over like that — he has already commandeered quite enough of Miss McKinnon's time tonight. He will make a spectacular fool of himself."

"Can we not prevent him?"

Remus grimaced as Mr. Pettigrew reached Black and had the gall to tap him on the shoulder . "Too late."

* * *

Tap tap tap.

Sirius turned around, cutting off Miss McKinnon mid-sentence, and readied an irate glare for whomever had been so rude as to tap on his shoulder.

He was faced with a simpering, overeager Mr. Pettigrew.

"Mr. Black, I have made a remarkable discovery!" The squat clergyman said excitedly.

Sirius stared at the man in furious disbelief. He could sense Miss McKinnon's incredulity rolling off of her in waves, too. Alas, Pettigrew did not seem to require a response, and ploughed on.

"I understand that you are the nephew of Lord Phineas Nigellus Black of Grimmauld Place." Pettigrew paused for some sort of confirmation from Sirius, who stayed resolutely silent. "Well, Mr. Black, I am in the happy position of being able to inform you that his lordship was in the best of health…" Pettigrew paused to think. "Eight days ago."

Sirius answered with stony silence. Pettigrew began to shift uncomfortably, faint traces of alarm on his face as it finally dawned on him that his imposition may have been unwelcome.

"That is to say — "

"Mr. Pettigrew!"

Sirius' head snapped up as Lupin's voice floated over the heads of nearby diners. Sirius watched as he slipped past a cluster of gentlemen and joined them. He looked harried and aggravated, eyes wide with alarm, and his tone with Pettigrew had been sharp.

"Dear Remus!" Pettigrew smiled, apparently unaware that he had caused his cousin any aggravation. "I was just telling Mr. Black — "

Lupin cut him off. "I believe my Aunt is most desirous of your company, Mr. Pettigrew."

"Well —"

"She has not had much time with you this evening," Lupin said insistently, his eyes darting between Sirius and Pettigrew. "Please, Sir — join her at the dining table. It will do you good to sit down and eat something."

"So singularly considerate." Pettigrew positively beamed. "Cousin, you are as thoughtful as you are beautiful."

Sirius clenched his fists at the sight of Pettigrew practically pawing over Lupin while Miss McKinnon scoffed underbreath.

Lupin merely frowned.

"If you would come with me," he pressed, "I beg you hurry, else all the good roast will be gone, Mr. Pettigrew."

Pettigrew acquiesced and made towards Mrs. Evans, bowing deeply to Sirius and Miss McKinnon before he went. Lupin turned to follow him, when Sirius was struck by an odd urge to speak.

"Mr. Lupin."

Lupin turned back around, eyebrow quirked in a questioning sort of way. "Mr. Black?"

Sirius felt a lump forming in his throat; he had very little idea of what he even wanted to say .

"It seems your cousin is one for wanton impropriety." Is what Sirius settled on, allowing his mouth to twist with displeasure as he considered Pettigrew's recent conduct.

Lupin's expression was unreadable. "Mr. Pettigrew informs me that, as a clergyman, he is prone to a sort of categorical familiarity with others, which he tells me makes him so very well-liked in society. I am sorry it was not to your tastes."

Sirius fought off the urge to laugh — h e was quite certain that Lupin was mocking Pettigrew. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Lupin." I wouldn't mind being touched by **you **, though.

"I shall endeavour to make Mr. Pettigrew aware of that." Lupin said evenly. "Now, if that's everything, Mr. Black..."

Sirius felt a twinge of something in the region of his heart, he blurted out; "Wait!"

Lupin raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst. "Yes?"

"I forgot to mention earlier — " that you look so very beautiful this evening, and I want to kiss you, and know everything about you, and maybe marry you so that I can take you into my bed and hear your wonderful voice every day for the rest of my life.

Sirius' mouth went dry. Marry Lupin. The idea was simply preposterous. He needed to get a hold of himself — this ridiculous town and its confined, unvarying society was clearly making him lose his wits . He would never feel this way, otherwise.

He was certain of it.

"Nothing." Sirius muttered. "That is all, Lupin."

Lupin nodded stiffly, and swept off to play babysitter to Pettigrew, who was now settled quite happily next to Mrs. Evans at the dining table.

* * *

Having just extricated Pettigrew from his interaction with Black, Remus felt a tidal wave of relief when, shortly after, Petunia finally finished her song. She sat upright, looking quite pleased with herself, and the group clapped politely — if not a bit despiritedly.

That was, until she launched straight into another song.

"My Mo-oo-other bids me — "

Remus' stomach dropped, and he sent an imploring look in Mr. Evans' direction.

Mr. Evans rose quickly and rushed to the piano.

" — b ind my hair, with bands of ro-ooo-sy hue — "

"You do extremely well, child. You've delighted us long enough." Mr. Evans leant forward to mutter out of the corner of his mouth, though he was still quite plainly heard by everyone. "Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit."

Remus winced at the embarrassing display — he had hoped a more subtle sort of intervention on Mr. Evans' part. Petunia, looking shaken, stiffly rose from the seat and gathered up her music sheets. Conversation began in the dining hall again, quite falteringly.

Remus' reprieve was short — Pettigrew had taken Petunia's retreat as an invitation to step into the spotlight.

"If I were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air. Indeed, I should, for…" Mr. Pettigrew stood from the dining table and began to walk towards the piano. Again, Remus' stomach dropped like a stone. He's not serious.

"...for I consider music as a very innocent diversion…"

Mr. Black, of all people, gave Miss McKinnon a significant look, and the young lady rushed to get to the piano before Mr. Pettigrew.

Remus supposed Black was trying to spare his friend further embarrassment. Potter could do very well without the dulcet tones of Mr. Pettigrew being heard at his residence tonight.

"...and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman…"

Miss McKinnon sat at the piano and began to play rapidly, cutting Pettigrew off.

Mrs. Evans was in conversation with Lovegood, her mouth full of food, and loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"Mr. Pettigrew is such a sensible, respectable young man," Mrs. Evans paused to chew. "...and he's taken quite a fancy to Remus…"

Remus stared at his Aunt in disbelief, cheeks colouring. It was nothing short of humiliating - to have it more or less announced to a ballroom full of people that he might marry somebody as stupendously foolish as Pettigrew.

"...and I don't think he could find a better husband. He favoured Lily at first — "

Mr. Potter's head snapped around rapidly, and Lily looked hugely discomforted.

" — but Potter was there before him, of course. Now there will be a great marriage!" Mrs. Evans sighed. "And, of course, that will throw the girls into the path of other rich men."

Remus winced as he took in the thunderous expression on Black's face. This was impropriety like he had never seen before, no doubt.

" — Lydia!" called Rosier, rushing past Remus in pursuit of Lydia — who giggled and held — Rosier's sword, christ — high above her head as she ran, breathless, across the dining hall.

Remus paled.

"Lydia! Lydia!" The frustration in Rosier's voice was clear as he exasperatedly pursued Remus' fool cousin across the room.

Lydia and Rosier collided with Remus, who did his best not to spill his drink. Rosier succeeded in snatching back his sword shortly thereafter, and Lydia collapsed ungracefully into a chair.

"Lord! Rosier, fetch me a glass of wine!" Lydia puffed. "I can scarce draw breath, I'm so fat!"

Remus heaved a horrified sigh, and screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to avoid his most abject humiliation — praying, not for the first time, that this horrid night might finally end.


	10. Proposals and Plots

That following morning, Mr. Pettigrew woke with the clear intention of making a declaration.

He had originally intended to do it the following Saturday, but was sure that the object of his affections was already sufficiently bewitched; and waiting would be an unnecessary heartache to them both. Mr. Pettigrew was, after all, a merciful man — and a man of the church. It was not in his nature to extend Remus' suffering, not when the young gentleman had surely been agonizing over when or whether the offer would come.

Resolved and filled with cheer, Mr. Pettigrew walked the rooms of Longbourn in search of his fair cousin.

He eventually happened across Remus in the dining room, along with Mrs. Evans and one of the younger girls.

"My dear madam," he addressed Mrs. Evans with his trademark ease and charm, so well-practiced from his work as a clergyman. "May I solicit the honour of a private audience with your bewitching ward?"

"Oh, yes! Certainly!" Mrs. Evans replied, "Kitty, come, I want you upstairs."

"Dear Aunt, do not go," Remus said, ever the modest youth. "I beg you not to — please, Mr. Pettigrew can have nothing to say to me that he cannot say in front of you."

Pettigrew supposed that Remus' apparent reluctant in the face of his attentions was the way of elegant young people these days — to play coy, and understate the violence of their own affections.

And it was likely, thought Pettigrew, that dear Remus had not dared hope for the sort of marital felicity that he was about to kindly offer — poor Remus had surely been tormented these past few weeks, thinking that his deep and abiding love for Pettigrew would come to nought.

Yes, Pettigrew thought, the lad was merely protecting himself. And how diligent of him to do so! Pettigrew as quite sure he could not have chosen a better partner to bring home to his rectory and to Lord Phineas.

Mrs. Evans — a very good sort of woman, the very embodiment of sense and Christian spirit — seemed to have the wherewithal to point her ward in the direction of his future happiness, for which Pettigrew was grateful. "Remus! I insist that you stay here and hear Mr. Pettigrew."

Remus did not oppose this injunction, and stood obediently on the other side of the dining table — expression guarded. Pettigrew remained singularly enchanted by the gentleman's resolute timidity.

Pettigrew cleared his throat, and delivered his declaration in full;

"Believe me, my dear Remus, that your modesty adds to your other perfections. But you can hardly doubt the object of my discourse, however your delicacy may lead you to dissemble. For, as almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life."

Pettigrew observed that Remus' expression twisted strangely at that — perhaps he was trying to contain his joy at hearing the words aloud for the first time?

"But before I am run away by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying."

Remus sighed, though Pettigrew thought it might have been a swoon. "Mr. Pettigrew—"

Pettigrew held up a hand to quiet Remus, who, no doubt sensing that he would soon to be bound to love, honour, and obey him soon enough anyway, fell silent.

"My reasons for marrying are — first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness. And thirdly... which perhaps I should have mentioned first," Pettigrew faltered, and noted that strange twisting expression on Remus' face again, "that it is the particular recommendation of my noble patron, Lord Phineas Nigellus Black. 'Mr. Pettigrew ,' he said, 'you must marry. Choose properly ,' he said, 'Choose a gentle person, for my sake; and for your own, let them be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up too high. Find such a person as soon as you can. Bring them to Grimmauld and I will visit them .' And your wit, and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to him... that is, when tempered with the silence and respect, which his rank will inevitably excite."

Pettigrew noted that Remus' expression had gone curiously blank. He must be positively shocked at his good fortune. Pettigrew thought. The dear.

Pettigrew continued.

"But so much for my general intention in favour of matrimony, now as to my particular choice." He smiled indulgently at Remus, who was making steady eye contact with the fine grain of the dining table — Pettigrew was again taken in by his future husband's demureness. "My dear cousin, being as I am to inherit all this estate after the death of your Uncle — who may still live for many years yet — I could not satisfy myself, without resolving to choose a partner from among his relations." He thought he ought to make the family's situation absolutely clear; "So that the loss may be as tolerable as possible, when the melancholy event inevitably takes place."

Pettigrew thought briefly he saw a flash of something in Remus' expression akin to anger, but told himself that it must just be a spark of passionate love.

"And now, nothing remains…" Pettigrew got down on one knee, having crossed the room to stand in front of Remus, "but to assure you in the most animated language, of the violence of my affections."

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, edging backwards — and Pettigrew was once again struck by how infallibly, resolutely modest Remus was, to the very last. Clearly he was not accustomed to being praised with such finesse. "Mr. Pettigrew, please…"

"To fortune I am perfectly indifferent." Pettigrew assured him. "I am well aware that one-thousand pounds and four percent is all you may ever be entitled to, but I shall never reproach on that score when we are married."

"You are too hasty, sir." Remus said, a thread of baffling exasperation all at once becoming obvious to Pettigrew. "You forget that I have made no answer, and let me do so now. I thank you for your compliments. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to accept them."

Pettigrew blinked.

Then, quickly recovering himself, he stood and chuckled, brushing his trousers of the ash that he had accidentally knelt in (he had chosen a spot rather too near the hearth to propose).

"I am by no means discouraged!" Said Pettigrew. "Indeed, not. I understand that it is usual to reject the addressed of a man one secretly means to accept."

Remus' open-mouthed expression of shock was not exactly what Pettigrew had hoped for, but he forged on regardless.

"And, therefore, I shall hope, my dear cousin, to lead you to the altar before long."

"Upon my word, your hope is an extraordinary one in view of my declaration!" Remus stood and paced the room, removing himself from Pettigrew's immediate proximity. "I was perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, Mr. Pettigrew, and I am convinced that I am the last man in the world who could make you so. Your Lord Phineas, I am sure, would not find me to his liking, and I must profess myself — in every respect — ill-qualified for the situation of marrying you."

"I cannot imagine his lordship would be at all disapproving of you!" Pettigrew cried, feeling some measure of relief in understanding Remus' reasons for refusing — he felt himself unworthy, of course . Who could help but falter when confronted with the magnanimity and grandiosity of Lord Phineas Nigellus Black? "Rest assured, my dear cousin, that I will speak highly of your modesty, your economy, and all other amiable qualifications when next I see him."

"Indeed, Mr. Pettigrew, all praise of me will be unnecessary." Remus said, looking rather more tense and irritable than Pettigrew would had anticipated. "I cannot accept your hand."

"My dear Remus, my situation in life, my connection with the ancient and most noble house of Black... these are circumstances highly in my favour!" Pettigrew dropped his voice lower. "You should consider that it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you."

Remus stiffened and turned away.

Pettigrew continued; "You cannot be serious in your rejection!" said he, "I must attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense in the usual manner of elegant youths!"

Remus spared a glance back at Pettigrew from the doorway; "I assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions to the kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I thank you for the honour of your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings forbid it in every respect."

Pettigrew merely proclaimed; "You are uniformly charming!"

Remus growled — actually growled , causing Pettigrew to startle. Remus then turned on his heel and marched out of the room, leaving Pettigrew spluttering in his wake.

"—And I am persuaded that when sanctioned by your excellent guardians, my—" Remus took the stairs two at a time, disappearing from Pettigrew's sight, "—my proposals…will not fail of being—" Pettigrew heard Remus slamming his bedroom door shut, "...acceptable."

Pettigrew stared at the emptiness of the room, halfway paralysed by his growing incredulity.

Remus had refused him. Him. And he had thought the man so very much in love!

It simply made no sense.

Pettigrew pulled out a handkerchief to mop his sweaty brow. Perhaps Mrs. Evans could talk sense into her ward — plainly Lupin had temporarily taken leave of his sanity. When Remus returned to a sensible frame of mind and accepted his hand, he would be sure not to reproach him his early nerves — as Pettigrew was blessed with a singularly forgiving disposition, most becoming of a member of the clergy.

It must be very intimidating, after all, for somebody as low as Lupin to receive an offer from a man of Pettigrew's very great stature.

* * *

Mr. Evans viewed his study as a sort of sanctuary from his beloved wife; for neither her nor any of their younger daughters ever bothered to step foot in it.

Remus had been known join him on occasion — they would drink port, and read in companionable silence, or else talk about the news of the day. Lily would bring him his tea, and occasionally he would bid her to stay, and keep her old father company a while. She would oblige, and settle down to sew or write letters while he occupied himself with estate sums or epics.

But Mrs. Evans never came into the study. It was a fact that he felt he could rely upon — like the colour of the sky, or the date, or the monarchy.

It was for that reason that Mr. Evans was so very disquieted to hear the familiar sound of his wife's flustering and bustling growing ever-closer to his study door.

"Oh! Mr. Evans! You are wanted immediately. We are all in uproar!" Mrs. Evans stepped over the threshold, and Mr. Evans was halfway convinced that she would burst into flame. When she did not, Mr. Evans felt the sudden weight of the onerous task of attempting to listen to what she was saying. "You must come and make Remus marry Mr. Pettigrew; for he vows he will not have him, and if you do not make haste, Mr. Pettigrew will change his mind!"

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you." Mr. Evans said politely. "Of what are you talking?"

Mrs. Evans huffed and took several steps closer — Mr. Evans was disquieted by her proximity to the books. "Of Mr. Pettigrew and Remus! Remus declares that he will not have Mr. Pettigrew, and Mr. Pettigrew begins to say he will not have Remus!"

Mr. Evans walked over to his drinks table and poured a measure of port — he had a feeling he would need it. "Well, what am I to do on the occasion? Seems a hopeless business."

Mr. Evans took his glass of drink and settled back down in his chair, and attempted to go back to reading his book. Perhaps if he ignored the apparition of Mrs. Evans in his study, she would simply go away.

Mrs. Evans remained solidly and resolutely corporeal. "Speak to Remus about it yourself! Tell him you insist upon him marrying Pettigrew!"

Mr. Evans sighed, and set his book down.

"Let him come in."

Mrs. Evans walked into the hall and called shrilly for Remus. Mr. Evans heard heavy footfalls; Remus marched into the room, arms crossed, looking challengingly between Mrs. Evans and Mr. Evans.

Mr. Evans stood. "Come here, my child."

Remus obliged warily. He crossed over to where Mr. Evans stood by the fireplace.

"I, erm, I understand Mr. Pettigrew has made you an offer of marriage. It is true?"

Mr. Evans saw the way Remus' jaw worked. "Yes, sir."

"Right, very well. And this offer of marriage you have refused?"

"I have."

Mr. Evans nodded. "I see. Ahem, right. Well, here we come to the point. Your aunt insists on your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Evans?"

Mrs. Evans sniffed loudly. "Yes, or I will never see him again."

Mr. Evans watched the way that Remus' expression darkened as he glared at his fool aunt. He gently pulled the young man's attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Well, an unhappy alternative is before you, Remus." Mr. Evans sighed. "From this day, you must be a stranger to one of your guardians. Your aunt will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Pettigrew," he paused, "and I will never see you again if you do."

Remus looked at his uncle with wide eyes, and breathed deeply in his relief. Mr. Evans smiled indulgently at Remus, clapping him lightly on the shoulder, before returning to his chair.

"Oh, Mr. Evans!" Mrs. Evans cried, pulling out and handkerchief and sobbing dramatically into it.

Mr. Evans met Remus' eye. "I think perhaps you ought to take a long walk into town today, Remus."

Remus nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Miss Emmeline Vance set out from Vance Lodge to visit her dear friend Remus late in the afternoon — she would stay for dinner at Longbourn, perhaps. She felt she could use the distraction.

As she approached the residence, Lydia and Kitty walked out of the house in travelling clothes and purses — but Emmeline did not see them. She was preoccupied with thoughts of the ball at Peverell, and all that had transpired there. Her father had made some faltering attempts to set her up with Mr. Vernon Dursley, which was all for nought, as he was ill-tempered and rude, as well as being half in love with Miss Petunia Evans — for reasons which were unclear to everyone, after the appalling display she had put on at the pianoforte.

Emmeline thought she might never be married, which usually would not have upset her, but for the fact that her family could not afford to feed and house her forever. And Emmeline did not think she had the right sort of disposition for work as a governess.

Then Lydia called out to her. "Emmeline! What are you doing here?"

Emmeline blinked at the girls, who to her mind had appeared quite suddenly, and changed course to meet them at the gate. "I have come to see Remus, of course."

Kitty and Lydia giggled, causing Emmeline to raise a questioning brow.

"Mr. Pettigrew has made Remus an offer." Lydia sniggered. "And what do you think? Remus won't have him."

Emmeline sighed. "Then I am very sorry for him, though I couldn't say I'm surprised."

Remus had always been rather more sentimental than she, but Emmeline quite liked that about him. Mr. Pettigrew would not suit Remus at all.

"Mamma's beside herself," said Kitty, and Emmeline had no difficulty imagining the sort of state Mrs. Evans would've worked herself into over the matter, "Pettigrew insists that he won't stay another night."

"Should I invite Mr. Pettigrew to dine with us this evening?" Emmeline wondered aloud, a plan forming in her head as she did. She had a very meagre fortune to recommend her to suitors, and was not the prettiest of ladies. Pettigrew, though foolish, might make her a good match indeed.

And she was sure that Remus would have no ill-feeling over the matter; he had no attachment to Pettigrew at all, that was quite plain.

"Aye, do, do!" Lydia said vehemently. "Take him away and feed him, for he has been in high dudgeon all morning!"

* * *

News of the failed proposal and of Pettigrew's disgrace quickly reached Peverell — for Lydia had told Mr. Lovegood when she went into town that day, who had, in turn, told Mr. Diggory while buying meats from the butchers, who then shared the news with Miss Meadowes when came to call on her that afternoon (this was much to the chagrin of one Miss McKinnon, who sulked in the background the entire time and would not let up until her dreary presence finally drove Diggory from the house).

Sirius had been reading in the day-room when Miss McKinnon swept in the morning after the news had first come, making an unconvincing show of perusing the bookshelves. Sirius did not acknowledge her from the spot under the window where he read — it was very plain that Miss McKinnon had come with the intention of forcing some conversation out of him.

Sirius could not be too angry at this, however, for if his friends did not insist upon doing so from time to time, he was sure he would have no conversation at all.

He allowed the moments to stretch on, certain that Miss McKinnon would break before long.

She did not disappoint him.

"I suppose we cannot be too shocked at Lupin's refusal of Pettigrew," Miss McKinnon sniffed. "As I expect he is waiting for you to propose. Everybody knows that you are so very enraptured by his pert opinions and middle-class charm, after all."

Sirius huffed but otherwise made no reply. He felt little surprise at Lupin's refusing Pettigrew, but would not allow the small measure of relief the news had brought to cause him to indulge Miss McKinnon's jibes. No matter what she teased, he would not suffer the indignity of marrying a solicitor's son.

Even if that solicitor's son had hair of spun bronze, and eyes like amber, and a figure to rival Adonis himself—

No. Sirius screwed his eyes shut. No, shut up. He's just a moderately fanciable boy — averagely handsome, nothing remarkable or peculiar about him at all. He's village-pretty, nothing more.

"I hope," Miss McKinnon continued, oblivious to Sirius' internal struggle, "that you will give your Aunt-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event does take place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can manage it, do discourage the younger cousins of running after officers."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh, but of course, you have my word." He drawled sardonically. "Should I ever marry Lupin, I will consider taking his Aunt and cousins to task for their impropriety my very highest priority."

Sirius rather thought his actual highest priority would be shagging Lupin's brains out, but didn't think Miss McKinnon would appreciate such colourful language, nor the general sentiment, quite so early in the morning.

" And ," Miss McKinnon continued, "if I may mention so delicate a subject, you might endeavour to check that little something ," Miss McKinninon's nose wrinkled in distaste, "bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your boy Lupin possesses."

Sirius resigned himself to the conversation, as Miss McKinnon was clearly determined to have it. Huffing, he set down his book and addressed her with a thin smile; "Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?"

"Oh! Yes." Miss McKinnon dropped all pretense of looking for a book now, and strode over to stand in front of Sirius, so that they may converse more directly. " Do let the portrait of Lupin's father be placed in the gallery at Gryffindor. Put it next to your Great Uncle Arcturus, the Judge. They were of the same profession, you know, if only in different lines."

Miss McKinnon laughed airily at her own joke, and Sirius did not bother to reply. She was perfectly correct to point out the huge disparity in circumstances between Lupin's relations and his own, but something about the comment made Sirius uncomfortable. He remembered the fondness with which Lupin had spoken of his father at James' farcical ball — he had told Sirius about how terribly he had missed the man — and felt his gut churning with unease.

"As for your Remus' picture, you must not have it taken at all." Miss McKinnon concluded smugly; "For what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"

Sirius ignored the slight thrill he felt upon hearing the phrase 'your Remus' , and raised an eyebrow at Miss McKinnon. She seemed singularly determined to bring Lupin down — and he did not know precisely why, as it was hardly new behaviour, but he found that it angered him.

"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression," Sirius replied coolly, "but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied."

Miss McKinnon's jaw snapped shut and her eyes bugged out a bit in shock at Sirius' response. She drew a sharp breath, and seemed to ponder for a moment what she might say.

"The whole family is ridiculous." She finally said. "Utterly and completely ridiculous."

Sirius could not argue that, nor did he have any particular wish to. "Indeed."

"And they're trying to get their claws into James." Miss McKinnon continued. "We've all seen it, how the mother schemes for her daughter to prevail upon his goodness. I doubt James even understands that he is being manipulated."

Sirius doubted that, too.

"Yes." Sirius sighed, dragging a hand across his face wearily. "I have suspected for some time that the eldest Miss Evans has no great partiality for James, but continues to indulge him at the behest of her mother." He paused, and added; "She is, perhaps, flattered by his attentions, but I detect no signs of any peculiar regard."

"Yes! I am certain that Miss Lily receives his attentions only out of familial obligation," Miss McKinnon agreed, "I only wish poor James could be made to see the truth."

It struck Sirius then, that in all of their years of friendship, he had been able to talk James into — and out of — just about anything.

And if James relinquished his claim on Miss Lily Evans, then he might be persuaded to return to town, and Sirius would not have to stay so near to Lupin and all the rest of the inhabitants of the Hollow. He would be free of this strange infatuation, and James would have avoided a most unsuitable match, too.

It would be best for everyone.

"You know, Miss McKinnon," Sirius said slowly, "I believe that we could persuade him."

Miss McKinnon's eyes widened, and when she next spoke it was with true eagerness; "Do you think so? Truly?"

Sirius nodded. "We can explain that Miss Evans has no true attachment to him, I am sure that will be enough to induce him to spend some time in London. We could be out of this damned backwater before the week's end."

Miss McKinnon was grinning now. "A change of scenery would be most marvellous for Dorcas, too."

"Oh?"

"She is becoming attached to that Diggety fellow," Miss McKinnon scowled, "I know her disposition well enough to say that the match would not bring her any happiness — it would be kindest to separate them before he forms any serious design on her."

Sirius nodded, accepting without question Miss McKinnon's authority on the matter of her dearest friend's happiness. She was looking out for her, much like Sirius was looking out for James.

They were doing the right thing — for all involved.


	11. The Curse of the Vanishing Suitors

The discussion of Mr. Pettigrew's offer was now nearly at an end, and Remus had only to suffer from the peevish allusions of Mrs. Evans, who had taken to sniffling dramatically from an armchair in the day-room to whoever would consent to stand in her presence.

As for the gentleman himself, his feelings were chiefly expressed not by embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid Remus, but by stiffness of manner and resentful silence. Mr. Pettigrew scarcely ever spoke to him, and the assiduous attentions which he had paid Remus were almost immediately transferred to Miss Emmeline Vance.

Remus could not help but feel that Emmeline's civility in listening to Pettigrew was a seasonable relief to them all, and merited immediate elevation to sainthood. He could not imagine how Emmeline was suffering with Pettigrew's dullness.

As the days wore on there was no abatement of Mrs. Evans' ill-humour or ill health. And so, after breakfast, Remus proposed that he and the girls walk into the Hollow to inquire if Barty had yet returned, and to lament over his absence from the ball at Peverell. Lydia and Kitty hastily agreed to the outing, though Lily was feeling out of spirits and expressed a desire to stay indoors. Though disheartened at the loss of Lily's company, Remus felt some relief that her confinement at Longbourn would absolve him of the responsibility of extending an invitation to Petunia.

As it happened, Barty joined them on their entering the town, and attended them to Mr. Lovegood's house where his regret and vexation at having missed their society at the ball was well-talked over.

Barty and another officer then walked back with them to Longbourn, and during the walk he particularly attended to Remus. His accompanying them was a double advantage; Remus felt all the compliment it offered to himself, and it was most acceptable as an occasion of introducing Barty to his Aunt and Uncle.

Mrs. Evans, though sour with Remus, was categorically delighted with Barty. Mr. Evans was more aloof, but Remus knew that his disposition was not the sort that formed attachments easily. No doubt he had a fine opinion of Barty, but felt no need to express it. Mr. Evans took his leave shortly after making the gentleman's acquaintance, however, and retired to his study.

The rest of them sat in the day-room at Longbourn, Remus' knees almost touching Barty's as they took their tea at the table near the window sill.

"I was sorry not to see you at Peverell." Remus admitted, setting his teacup down in its saucer. "I had thought we might dance there."

Barty smiled sadly at him. "I found," said he, "as the time drew near that I had better not meet Mr. Black; that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear. Scenes might arise unpleasant to more than just myself."

Remus highly approved of Barty's forbearance, in spite of his sorrow at missing him, and they had a full discussion of it;

"It would not have been good to see Potter embarrassed in his own home." Remus acknowledged. "He is a very good sort of man."

"And through him, your cousin?" Barty guessed shrewdly.

Lily, quite unaware that she was being discussed, was in earnest conversation with her mother. For their part, Kitty and Lydia had been momentarily distracted by a game of cards with Barty's officer friend, and Mary was reading Fordyce's sermons in the corner, a dour expression affixed firmly on her horsish face.

Remus glanced sidelong at Barty. "I've no idea what you are implying, Sir." He said in his loftiest voice.

Barty chuckled. "Indeed?"

"They are not engaged." Yet, Remus silently added. "So any scene, no matter how undesirable, could not possibly have reflected poorly upon Lily."

Barty tilted his head questioningly, "I was under the impression that Mr. Potter had been courting the eldest Miss Evans."

Remus allowed himself a smile. "Yes, I believe he is."

"I shall save my congratulations and best wishes for a later time, then," Barty said genially. "Though I hope that I need not wait long."

Remus felt warm all over, and beamed at Barty. "I hope so too."

"But enough of other people and their proposals," Barty said, and Remus groaned inwardly. "I hear that you have been made an offer of great marital felicity. I believe that Mr. Remus Pettigrew sounds a very fine name, indeed."

Remus snorted, and checked that his Aunt was well-occupied before dropping his voice to reply; "I beg you not tease me! It was awful, Barty."

Barty chuckled. "I can well believe it."

"I honestly don't know what possessed him to single me out," Remus grumbled. "We are not in the least bit compatible."

"I can wager a guess at what possessed him." Barty said with darkened eyes. Then, before Remus could blush or protest, he leaned forward to whisper in his ear; "If I had the liberty of seeing your terrific arse every day, I think I might throw myself at your feet and beg for your hand in marriage, too."

Remus felt the scratch of Barty's stubble and his hot breath; the vague swell of arousal that accompanied these sensations made Remus fell ever-so-slightly off-kilter.

His voice was a little shaky when he replied; "Might you?"

Barty only grinned.

Further conversation was derailed as a letter arrived for Lily; it came from Peverell. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing hand; and Remus saw his cousin's countenance change as she read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages.

Lily recollected herself quickly, and putting the letter away, tried to rejoin the general conversation with her usual cheerfulness.

But Remus felt an anxiety on the subject which drew his attention even from Barty; and no sooner had he and his companion taken their leave, than a glance from Lily invited him to follow her upstairs.

When they reached Lily's room, she took out the letter and began to explain: "This is from Miss McKinnon; and I cannot pretend that what it contains hasn't surprised me a great deal. She writes that the whole party will have left Peverell by now, and are on their way to London — and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says." Lily then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information of their having just resolved to follow their friend to town directly, and of their meaning to dine in Grosvenor Street, where Miss McKinnon had a house. The next was in these words: "'I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Godric's Hollow, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.'"

To these highflown expressions Remus listened with all the distrust Miss McKinnon's sentiments rightly deserved; and though the suddenness of their removal surprised him, he saw nothing in it really to lament.

It was not to be supposed that their absence from Peverell would prevent Mr. Potter's being there once his business had concluded; and as to the loss of their society, he was inclined to think that Lily would be better off if she ceased to regard it entirely.

"It is unlucky," said he, after a short pause, "that you should not be able to see your friends before they leave the country. But may we not hope that a happy reunion will occur sooner than she is aware? Mr. Potter will not be detained in London long, surely."

Lily smiled sadly at Remus' attempts to cheer her. "Miss McKinnon decidedly says that none of the party will return to Godric's Hollow this winter. I will read it to you: 'When James left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days; but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when James gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it again. Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter; I wish that I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one of the crowd—but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Godric's Hollow may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beauxs will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you.'" Lily concluded, folding the letter and adopting a stoic expression.

_That your beauxs will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling loss_. Remus felt a flash of anger at that. What did Miss McKinnon mean by ignoring Potter's obvious attachment to Lily in such a way? Implying that she ought to find a new beau, that there was no reason to wait for Potter's return?

"It is evident by this," Lily slowly continued, "that he comes back no more this winter."

"It is only evident that Miss McKinnon does not mean that he should." Remus argued hotly. "But her attempts to interfere in your future happiness, as well as Mr. Potters, will come to nought. I am certain of it, Lily."

"Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. He is his own master." Lily said stiffly, a hint of resentment creeping into her voice. "But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you." She reopened the letter and scanned her eyes towards the end.

"'Mr. Black is impatient to see his brother; and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet him again. I really do not think Regulus Black has an equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection he inspires in Dorcas and myself is heightened into something still more interesting. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. My dear cousin James admires Regulus greatly already; he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing him on the most intimate footing; his relations all wish the connection as much as his own; and a dear friend's partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call James most capable of engaging anybody's heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Lily, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?' What do you think of this sentence, my dear Remus?" said Lily as she finished it. "Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Miss McKinnon neither expects nor wishes me to marry James; that she is perfectly convinced of his indifference to me; and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means, most kindly, to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?"

"Yes, there can!" Remus burst. "Will you permit me to explain what is actually happening here?"

"Most willingly."

"Miss McKinnon sees that her cousin is in love with you, and wants him to marry Regulus Black." Remus thought he had a good idea of why she wanted that; it would form another layer of association between Mr. Black and herself, who she clearly wished to wed. "She follows James to town in hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you."

Lily shook her head, and Remus hastened to strengthen his argument; "Indeed, Lily, you ought to believe me! No one who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. Miss McKinnon, I am sure, cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Black for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes." Lily chuckled unwillingly at that. "But the case is this: We are not rich enough or grand enough for them; and she is the more anxious to get Regulus Black for James, from the notion that when there has been one intermarriage, she may have less trouble in achieving a second. But, my dearest Lily, you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss McKinnon tells you her cousin greatly admires Regulus Black, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he last took leave of you, or that it will be in her power to persuade him that, instead of being very much in love with you, he is in love with somebody else."

"If we thought alike of Miss McKinnon," replied Lily, "your representation of all this might comfort me. But I know the foundation is unjust! I am certain that Marlene is incapable of wilfully deceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving herself."

Remus snorted. "Believe her to be deceived, by all means. Potter loves you, and he will come back, and he will ask you to marry him. I am certain of it."

"But Remus," Lily fretted, "Even so, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose family and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere?"

Remus stared hard at Lily.

"You must decide for yourself," said he; "and if, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his friends is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise that you by all means to refuse him."

"How can you talk so?" said Lily, faintly smiling. "You must know that I could not hesitate in accepting James, I just..."

"You are going to have to accept that other people will be unhappy, sometimes." Remus said. "It is not your job to make sure that nobody ever suffers the slightest amount of pain or discomfort, Lily."

Lily largely ignored this. "But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be required. A thousand things may arise in six months!"

Remus treated the idea of Potter returning no more with the utmost contempt. It appeared to him merely Miss McKinnon's intentions, and he could not for a moment suppose that those intentions, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man so totally independent of everyone.

He represented to his cousin as forcibly as possible what he felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Lily's temper became less despondent, and she was gradually led to hope.

They agreed that Mrs. Evans should only hear of the departure of the family, without being alarmed on the score of the rest of it; but even this partial communication gave the woman a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away just as they were all getting so intimate together. After lamenting it at some length, however, Mrs. Evans had the consolation that Mr. Potter would return again and then would come to dine at Longbourn.

* * *

Though the news of Potter quitting Godric's Hollow for the immediate short-term had surprised Remus, it was nothing to the shock he felt at the missives that arrived later that evening in the form of a flustered Ms. Trelawney.

Mr. Pettigrew, it had been said, had proposed to Emmeline Vance. And she had accepted him.

"I always knew his heart lay in that direction." Trelawney said with a grave knowingness, as Mrs. Evans cursed and moaned that it wasn't fair or right. "I have a remarkable sense of intuition, you know."

Remus struggled to conceal his shock, and resolved to visit the happy couple on the morrow for tea. Lily approved this plan immediately; "It is the polite thing, to offer our best wishes."

Remus had little intention of that, but he would observe the niceties. He was determined to know what exactly it was that Emmeline was thinking.

* * *

"...The fireplace in the great room at Grimmauld would be much larger than that. A fireplace of truly prodigious dimensions!"

Remus tried to tune out the sound of Mr. Pettigrew conversing with Sir William Vance in the background, and refocused his attention on his tea, and on Emmeline, who was speaking;

"But why should you be surprised, my dear Remus? Do you think it incredible that Mr. Pettigrew should be able to procure anyone's good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?"

Remus sighed. "Emmeline, I didn't mean…" He placed down his teacup and pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully; "I was surprised." He summoned the nerve to plough through what needed to be said next; "But, Emmeline, if Mr. Pettigrew has been so fortunate as to secure your affections, I'm delighted for you both."

Emmeline smiled wryly. "I can see what you're feeling, Remus. But I'm not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr Pettigrew's character and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state."

Remus smiled back at his friend, a little dimly, a little weakly, but it was all he could manage in view of the circumstances. "I only want you to be happy, Emmie."

"And I will be." Emmeline said firmly. "I know myself, Remus. And I know my circumstances — a great deal better than you do. I only ask that you trust in my judgment."

Remus considered her closely for a moment, and then relented with a sigh. "Of course," he said, very much meaning it. "Always."

* * *

If Remus thought that his week could not be made worse, he was wrong. Not only would he be losing the regular society of one of his dearest friends to the greatest buffoon to ever walk the earth, but that Thursday saw another letter come from Miss McKinnon, this one unsubtly praising the beauty and charm of Regulus Black and Mr. Potter's apparent growing attachment to him.

The letter further stated that Potter would definitely remain in London all winter, putting an end to the Evanses' hopes that he might return to Peverell before Christmas.

Remus huffed, and complained aloud to Lily that evening when they retired to read and sew in the drawing room; "Is it too much to ask that anybody in this damned town conduct their personal affairs with even a modicum of sense?"

"I suppose you are referring to Emmeline marrying Mr. Pettigrew." Lily said evenly, not moving her eyes from her needlework.

"And Potter." Remus added crossly. "I cannot understand what he is thinking, abandoning Peverell for the winter."

"I imagine he is thinking of Regulus Black, and his very many virtues." Lily said crossly, unpicking a stitch more violently than strictly necessary. "Miss McKinnon writes that he is a very gifted musician, and that James— Mr. Potter, is quite enthralled."

Remus snorted in disbelief. "Miss McKinnon should get into novels, if she is so very fond of writing fictions."

"Remus..." Lily sighed, and then, seeming to sense that there was no point arguing on the subject, as his standpoint on the matter was so implacable, she changed the topic of conversation altogether; "Tell me more of your visit with Emmeline. We've not had the chance to speak of it."

Finding this topic of conversation no less irritating than the last, Remus proceeded to start pacing the room. "Lily, it was such a humiliating spectacle!" He huffed. "She knows she's marrying one of the stupidest men in England. I never believed her capable of that."

"Remus, you do not make allowances for differences of situation and temper." Lily said gently. "Our cousin, Mr. Pettigrew, is not the cleverest of men, perhaps, but he is respectable. He is not vicious."

Remus shook his head, rolling his eyes. If that was truly the best that could be said of him...

"And, as far as fortune goes, it is an eligible match." Lily concluded.

"Very eligible!" Remus scoffed. "You would never think of marrying a man like that, simply to secure your own comfort."

Lily sighed exasperatedly. "No, but Remus, not everyone is the same. It is not wrong for Emmeline to think of her own comfort over romance."

Remus walked over to a chair by Lily's and dropped into it with a huge sigh. "Dear Lily. I doubt that you will have to make a choice between marrying for love and marrying for more material considerations."

Lily's eyes twinkled mischievously; "Though you may, perhaps?"

* * *

Relief from their most terrible week came in the form of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's arrival from Ottery St Catchpole.

Mrs. Molly Weasley was Mrs. Evanses' relation, her elder sister, in fact. Her temper, however, was very different to that of Mrs. Evans. Though lively, she was not prone to the same flights of maudlin self-pity as Mrs. Evans, and was altogether of a more useful disposition — which made sense given her alarming overabundance of energetic, red-headed children.

The family assembled in the front garden to greet them as they climbed from the carriage. Mr. Weasley first, carrying his son Percy, who was only three, in one arm. Mrs Weasley bustled after, ushering her older sons — Charlie and Bill, out ahead of her, and carrying a ginger twin in each arm. Fred and George, they had been named, and Remus had not yet had the pleasure of meeting them. They were barely six months old.

Bill, who was seven, stood proudly by his parents and flashed a grin at Remus.

Remus grinned back; he had always liked Bill.

"Oh, why, you're so late! I'm sure I feared your coach had overset itself, or you had been attacked by robbers!" Mrs Evans cried dramatically. She and Mrs. Weasley kissed each other on the cheek, and Mrs. Weasley waved off her dramatics easily; "Nonsense! We have made very good time. How do you do, Fanny?"

"Oh, very ill, Molly, very ill." Mrs. Evans lamented. "No one knows what I suffer with my nerves! But then I never complain."

"Aye, well, I suppose that's a nice way to go about it." Mr. Weasley said politely, almost succeeding in keeping all incredulity from his expression.

Mr. Weasley and Mr. Evans were shaking hands when Lydia bursts into the group and put her hand on a package from the Weasley's luggage.

"Oh, what have you got there? Have you brought us some presents?"

"Lydia!" Remus growled. "Manners!"

"I see you've not changed, Lydia." Mrs. Weasly tutted.

"Why, have I not grown?" Lydia asked archly, her eyes still fixed beadily on the package.

"Aye, in everything but good sense!" Mr. Evans said.

"Remus, Lily, my dears," Mrs. Weasly said, reaching them. She kissed them both on each cheek, and they greeted her most warmly. "It is so good to see you again, it has been such a long time!"

"Nearly a year," Remus agreed. "Far too long, Auntie. Now, I simply must make the acquaintance of these two distinguished young gentlemen." He leaned towards the redheaded twin closest to him, and gave him a broad smile — which was immediately returned by the gurgling baby. "Ah yes, I see a knighthood in this one's future; there's no doubt."

"I think that's Fred—" Mrs. Weasley started, before they were interrupted by Mrs. Evans' fussing to get them indoors.

"Oh, bring yourselves in; into the house! For you've barely time for a change of clothes!" She puffed. "We are bidden to the village this evening. Though Lord knows, I have no desire to be always going here and there at night! I should much rather sit at home and rest my poor nerves!"

* * *

They had not been at the Lovegood's for more than an hour before Mrs. Weasley had noticed Lily's dispiritedness.

"Remus, what exactly is the matter with our dear girl?" She asked him discreetly, as they sat on some couches watching the dancing.

Under his breath, Remus related the tale to Mrs. Weasley in full; he explained Mr. Potter's absence from town, his cousin's interference in the matter of Regulus Black, and Lily's certainty that all hope of marrying Potter was now lost.

Mrs. Weasley glanced slyly at Remus. "I wonder if…" she paused, "if Lily might enjoy a change of scenery? We are due to spend Christmas in London with Gideon and Fabian, you know, and I am sure they would be delighted to host Lily too. And if that throws her back into the path of Mr. Potter, well..." Mrs. Weasley shrugged innocently. "That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it?

Remus grinned widely. "Auntie, I do believe that is the most brilliant scheme I have ever heard."

Mrs. Weasley's cheeks pinked a little and she looked very smug. "Yes, well, I didn't secure Arthur by being oblivious to the seduction game, did I? No indeed, I had to outmanoeuvre a Miss Fawcett, who was so very desperate to secure his affections, and a Miss Kyle. They didn't realise that the family money had run out, and didn't love in him the slightest. Naturally, I was determined to prevail, and save him the sorrow of a must unhappy marriage."

Remus laughed. "Really?" He had not heard that version of their betrothal story before.

Mrs. Weasley leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially; "I followed him to Kent, if you must know, under the guise of visiting a distant Uncle. And lo and behold; suddenly I was at every ball he attended — looking glamorous as anything, of course — and he could hardly keep himself away from me. His parents disapproved of the match, but by the end of my month in Kent, it hardly mattered. He proposed the day before I was due to leave." Mrs. Weasley sighed wistfully at the memory. "Oh, to be young and in love again."

"Yes," Remus grinned, "As it is, you are only old and in love."

Mrs. Evans swatted him across the arm. "Wicked boy! I wonder that anybody likes you."

"Lily says the same all the time." Remus remarked mildly. "Come, let us tell Lily the good news."

After applying to Mr. Weasley for his consent on the matter, Mrs. Weasely invited Lily to accompany them back to London when they finish their visit. Lily accepted gladly, excited that in London she might get an opportunity to see Mr. Potter.

It was as the trio — Remus, Lily and Mrs. Weasley — were chatting, that Barty approached them.

Remus beamed. "May I present Mr. Barty Crouch Jr. to you, Aunt?"

Barty bowed. "Just Barty, if it pleases you."

Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly at Barty. "I understand you come from out Hogsmeade way, Mr. Crouch?"

Barty made no fuss at Mrs. Weasley's insistence of following the formalities, and merely nodded. "Indeed, I do, Ma'am. Do you know the country?"

"Oh, very well. I spent some of the happiest years of my life there — as a girl."

"But that is not five miles from where I grew up," Barty said with enthusiasm, "At Pemberley."

"Pemberley!" Mrs. Weasely's eyes widened. "But surely, Pemberley is the most handsome house in Hogsmeade; and, consequently, in the whole world."

Barty smiled warmly. "I see you take my view of things, Ma'am. And, uh, are you acquainted with the family?"

"No, not at all."

"I had the fortune to be the protégé of old Mr. Black. He was the very best of men, Mrs. Weasley." Barty said solemnly. "I wish you could have known him."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Barty, but there was something fixed about it — it was not the natural, warm smile that Remus knew. He puzzled over this for a moment, but was distracted by Barty's asking him for a dance.

Delighted, he accepted immediately, and went to line up with the other couples.

Barty danced well, and in the course of their movements he kept his eyes fixed upon Remus. Remus could hardly remember enjoying a dance more, and was sad indeed when the final notes were played. He chatted a little longer with Barty, but felt Mrs. Weasley's eyes upon him. Excusing himself, he returned to her side.

"Aunt? Is something the matter?"

Mrs. Weasley smiled sadly at Remus. "You two seem rather fond of each other."

"You say that like you might say that your favourite child had contracted the pox." Remus deadpanned. "I like Barty, and I think he does like me — there's nothing to it, though."

Remus did not mention his fragile hopes for more, nor the flirting, nor Barty's persistent impropriety and thinly-veiled seduction attempts.

Even so, Mrs. Weasely seemed to sense that there was more to the story.

"He is very engaging," Mrs. Weasely said carefully. "Though I think he would make a rather unsuitable match."

"For whom?" Remus inquired politely, pretending to mistake Mrs. Weasely's meaning.

Mrs. Weasely glanced at him pointedly. "Remus, I only want the best for you."

Remus sighed. "I know, I know."

"It would be best if you did not fall in love with that man." Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "I have an ill-feeling about it."

Unwilling to argue with his favourite Aunt, Remus nodded and promised to be careful. He then took Mrs. Weasley over to where Emmeline stood, and introduced the two.

They watched the couples on the dancefloor spin by; Barty was now dancing with a ginger-haired girl, who looked as though she could have been related to Mrs. Weasely, though her face was pinched and sour.

"When do you go into Kent?" Remus asked Emmeline.

"We shall spend the wedding night at Vance Lodge, and then travel to Hunsford on Friday."

They continued to watch the couples in silence for a moment. Emmeline suddenly turned and took Remus' hand, looking a little scared and desperate. "You will write to me, Remus? I believe I'm not likely to leave Kent for some time. I shall depend on hearing from you very often."

"And that you certainly shall." Remus assured her. "Who else will tell me that I am being too judgemental, if not you? Especially now that Lily is also going away for some months."

"My father and Maria are to come to me in March." Emmeline said. "Remus, will you promise to be one of the party? Indeed, you will be as welcome as either of them."

"Well, then how could I refuse?" Remus smiled, genuinely. "But, I'll only come if you guarantee me a glimpse of the famous chimneypiece at Grimmauld Place."

They laughed together.

"That, I think, you could scarcely avoid, even if you wished to." Emmeline smiled.

"Emmeline!" Maria Vance rushed over to join them. "Have you asked him, Emmeline? Is he to come to Hunsford with us?"

Remus smiled. "Yes indeed, I am."

"Good!" Maria sighed a great breath of relief. "Oh, I shall be half so frightened of Lord Phineas if you are with us, Remus."

Maria's attention turned to the ginger girl dancing with Barty. "Who is that girl dancing with Barty?"

It was Mrs. Weasely who provided the answer, to Remus' surprise. She had only just arrived in town, after all. "That is Miss Bulstrode. She's come to stay with her Uncle in the Hollow."

"Oh." Maria paused. "She's not very pretty, is she?"

Emmeline chuckled. "Beauty is not the only virtue, Maria. She has just inherited a fortune of ten-thousand pounds."

Remus' eyes widened a fraction. "Now that is a definite virtue."

They all laughed.

* * *

Later that evening, Remus, Lily, Mr. and Mrs Weasely, as well as Mr. and Mrs Evans all gathered in the drawing-room for some tea before bed.

"Oh, young Barty Crouch is such a charming young man, is he not, my dear?" Mrs. Evans asked Mr. Evans, who was pouring himself and Mr. Weasley a measure of port.

"What?" Mr. Evans glanced distractedly backwards. "Oh, indeed, he is. It was very good of him to entertain us so eloquently with stories about his misfortunes. With such narratives to hand, who would read novels?"

Remus frowned at his guardian, perturbed. "But I believe he's truly been treated contemptibly by Mr. Black, Uncle."

"Well, I daresay, he has, Remus." Mr. Evans sighed. "Though I wager that Black may turn out to be no more of a villain than your average rich man who is used to his own way."

Remus huffed, but was spared arguing by Mrs. Evans, of all people.

"I should be happy to see Barty married to any of our children!" Mrs. Evans exclaimed, before adding mournfully; "Oh, if only he had five or six thousand pounds a year!"

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"And now that Potter has left the neighbourhood forever!" Mrs. Evans continued, causing Lily to stiffen in her seat. "I do not know what will become of us all."

Mr. Evans surveyed his eldest daughter closely. "Come now, Lily, take comfort. Next to being married, a girl likes to be passed in love now and then."

Lily did not smile at this, and made no mention of her plans to travel to London with the Weasleys. Remus figured she would tell the family tomorrow.

Mr. Evans turned to Remus. "And when is your turn to come, Remus? You can hardly bear to be long outdone by Lily. Well, here there are enough officers in Godric's Hollow to disappoint all the youths in the country. Let young Barty be your man. He's a pleasant fellow — he'd jilt you creditably."

Remus grinned wryly, and did not think before biting back a reply; "Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Lily's good fortune."

Mr. Evans laughed, but Remus felt a swooping in his stomach the moment the words left his mouth. Lily got up and walked to the door, a shadow crossing her face.

"True." Mr. Evans said mildly. "And it is a comfort to think that whatever may befall you, you have an affectionate guardian, who will always make the most of it."

Remus did not listen, and instead watched Lily leave the room, and immediately rose to follow her.

He caught Mrs. Evans' next words clearly; "I don't know what will become of us all! Indeed, I do not. And I cannot bear to think of Emmeline Vance being mistress of this house. That I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take my place in it!"

Remus stiffened to hear his friend so disparaged, but continued after Lily.

"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things." Remus caught Mr. Evans' words as they grew fainter, he was in the hallway outside now. "...Let us flatter ourselves, that I might outlive you."

Remus made it to the landing outside Lily's room, just in time to see the door slammed in his face.

He sighed.

He would make things right on the morrow, for now he would allow Lily her sleep and solitude.

* * *

Lily rose the following day in good spirits, and assured Remus there was no ill-feeling between them. Her plans to go to London caused Mrs. Evans great excitement, and it was agreed that the group would make a merry party indeed when they set out at the week's end.

Remus entertained himself with the Weasley children, for the most part. Fishing with Bill and Charlie in the stream that ran near Longbourn, or else reading to Percy or playing with the twins. They were all dear children, if not a little energetic at times.

At one point, Charlie brought a huge lizard indoors to show Remus, and Mrs. Evans screeched so loudly that both twins began to cry in their cradles. Baffled as to the fuss that a lizard had generated, Charlie had only stared at Mrs. Evans like she was the most bizarre person he had ever seen — didn't she know, he asked Remus, that lizards were wonderful? Remus had kindly explained to him, then, that lizards were not usually meant to come indoors. Charlie frowned as though this did not wholly make sense to him, but accepted it all the same. He returned the lizard to the garden, and Remus joined him in playing outside until the sun went down.

The date of the Weasley's departure was upon them before he knew it, and Remus' farewell was marred by some unexpected news from town.

Lydia had announced to them that morning — loudly and brashly — that Barty had left town to pursue Miss Bulstrode across the country; ostensibly for her very large fortune.

"They are to be married, if you can believe! Poor Barty, marrying that ugly, speckled thing!"

Remus did feel the keen sting of rejection, however briefly, at Barty's shifting attention, but he understood Barty's position in a way that Lydia could not. Neither one of them had any money, and Mrs. Weasley had not been wrong in calling it an ineligible match. Barty could never have married Remus, he supposed that he had always known that, in his heart.

No, Remus' vanity was satisfied with believing that he would have been Barty's only choice, had fortune permitted it.

And, in light of his own equanimity on the subject, Remus concluded that he must never have been in love with Barty to begin with — if the transfer of his affections to another caused him so little pain.

Mrs. Weasley, however, wasted no time in proclaiming Barty a mercenary. "I saw his looks at you!" She huffed to Remus. "Oh yes, he was very cozy, wasn't he? Plainly only after one thing."

Remus hastened to defend his former suitor. "Barty isn't like that."

"Yes he is." She said snappily. "Young men these days — philandering, drinking! I'm certain he'll end up with gambolling debts and a syphilitic infection before long, don't you doubt it."

Remus chuckled, somewhat flattered that his Aunt was so incensed on his behalf. "Honestly, I am not upset in the slightest. You needn't be angry, Auntie."

This quelled Mrs. Weasley's temper somewhat, though nothing could stop Mrs. Evans bemoaning the poor fortune of her family.

"Cursed!" She cried. "Cursed, we are! Ne'er a suitor will come to this family!"

"Don't be ridiculous." Mrs. Weasley said frostily. "And curses are nothing to joke about."

"Joke? Who's joking?" Mrs. Evans demanded. "No, we will all be ruined, I am certain of it. We will be turned from this house by Mrs. Emmeline Pettigrew, and will languish in the street like beggars."

"Oh, honestly…" Mrs. Weasley had little patience for her sister's theatrics, and instead focused on herding her children to gather their things — they were departing within the hour.

Soon thereafter Remus found himself standing outside, watching the Weasleys and Lily load their belongings into a hired carriage.

"Do not worry about me," he said to Lily, catching her worried expression. "I may not get another Barty anytime soon, it is true. But perhaps if I am very, very lucky, fortune will provide me with another Mr. Pettigrew."

Lily laughed, and hugged him tight. "I will miss you."

"And I you." Remus wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. "Write to me — regale me of your romantic exploits. I am not likely to have any of my own, it seems."

Lily blushed. "I will do my best, if only for your sake."

"Oh, Remus, we meant to say earlier!" Mr. Weasley paused halfway up the carriage ladder, twisting his body to face Remus. "Would you like to accompany us on a tour after Easter? We were thinking out to the lakes, maybe; it's where Molly grew up - beautiful country."

Gleeful at the prospect of stretching his legs and seeing more of the country, Remus accepted at once; "I should be delighted."

Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly down at Remus from her carriage seat. "Take care of yourself until then, hmm?"

Remus nodded, and moved to farewell Lily properly. He brushed a strand of hair out of Lily's face. "Goodbye, cousin. And good luck in London."

He offered her a hand as she stepped up into the carriage after Mr. Weasely, and looked back at Remus one last time, eyes shining and hopeful.

"Goodbye."


	12. Lord Phineas Nigellus Black

_My dearest cousin,_

_Here we continue at the Prewett's to be quiet and comfortable; and my Aunt and Uncle could not be kinder or more attentive. All I lack here, dear Remus, is you to make me laugh at myself._

_You will remember that, three weeks ago, when Aunt Molly was going into that part of town, I took the opportunity of calling on Miss McKinnon in Grosvenor Street. I was very eager to see Marlene again, and I thought that she was glad to see me, though a little out of spirits. She reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London, and thought it very strange that both my letters should have gone astray. My visit was not long, as Marlene and Miss Meadowes were going out. But, they gave me every promise of calling on me in a day of two._

_I waited at home every morning for three weeks. And, at length, today she came. I know, my dear Remus, you will be incapable of triumphing at my expense, when I confess, I have been entirely deceived in Miss McKinnon's regard for me. She made it very evident that she took no pleasure in seeing me._

_When I asked after her brother, she made it clear that he knows of my being in town, but is much engaged at present, with Mr. Black and his brother Regulus._

_I must conclude, then, that Mr. Potter now no longer cares for me._

_Do not worry about me, Remus. I will be alright._

_All my love,_

_Lily_

* * *

Remus enjoyed his view of the high road from the Vance's carriage immensely; evergreen trees and little woods dotted the countryside, and Remus kept up a steady commentary of their relative merits for Maria Vance's benefit. Sir William read the paper for most of the trip, and was only diverted when at last they turned into the little lane to Hunsford.

Every eye was in search of Pettigrew's parsonage, and with every turn Remus expected it to be brought into view. The palings of Grimmauld Place formed their boundary on one side, and Remus could not help but smile at the recollection of all that he had heard of its inhabitants.

At length the parsonage revealed itself; the garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales, and the laurel hedge; everything declared it a fine and modest sort of house.

Mr. Pettigrew and Emmeline appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which led by a short gravel walk to the house.

Then they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other. The new Mrs. Pettigrew welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Remus was at once satisfied with his decision to come when he found himself so affectionately received.

"I have missed your face." Emmeline said with warmth, and Remus embraced her tightly.

"And I yours." He murmured in return, squeezing her tight. He had not had the pleasure of her company in over two months, and for most of that time Lily had been gone, too. He had not enjoyed dual deprivation of his favored society.

Remus saw instantly that his cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his bumbling, formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained Remus for some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all the family.

"I do hope your esteemed Aunt is getting on better with her nerves."

"She is neither better nor worse than usual, Sir." Remus said politely. "Though she sent her regards and best wishes for your health and happiness." She unequivocally had not , but Remus did not think the truth of the matter wholly politic.

Leading the party into the house, Pettigrew slowed to make sure that the neatness of the entrance was appropriately admired; and as soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality, to his humble abode.

Remus sighed, prepared to see him in all his glory; and he could not help fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, that he addressed himself particularly to Remus, as if wishing to cause him some regret over having refused his hand in marriage.

But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, Remus was not able to gratify him with any real sign of repentance. Indeed, he rather wondered at his friend that she could have so cheerful an air when wed to such a ridiculous man.

When Mr. Pettigrew said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed — which certainly was not unseldom — Remus involuntarily turned his eye to Emmeline. Once or twice, he discerned a faint blush; but in general it seemed that Emmeline wisely did not hear.

After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, Mr. Pettigrew invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself.

From his garden, Mr. Pettigrew would have led them round his two meadows; but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white frost, turned back along with Remus; Sir William alone accompanied Pettigrew onwards.

Emmeline took Remus and Maria over the house, clearly extremely well pleased to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband's help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency for which Remus gave Emmeline all the credit.

When Mr. Pettigrew could be ignored, there was an air of great comfort throughout the house, and by Emmeline's evident enjoyment of it, Remus was given the sense that Pettigrew must often be forgotten altogether.

While they were at dinner, Mr. Pettigrew made it his mission to inform Remus of every particular relating to the current movements of his most noble and esteemed patron;

"Yes, cousin, you will have the honour of seeing Lord Phineas Nigellus Black before long, I have no doubt. And I need not doubt that you will be delighted with him — he is all affability and condescension, and I am sure that you will be honoured with some portion of his notice when you are at last introduced. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying he will include you and dear Maria in every invitation with which he honours us during your stay here."

"That's very—"

But Pettigrew did not seem to require a response, and steamed on as though Remus had not made to speak at all. "His Lordship's behaviour to my dear Emmeline is charming. We dine at Grimmauld twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. His Lordship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of his Lordship's carriages, for he has several ."

Remus cleared his throat, and could not help casting a significant glance in Emmeline's direction. "Lord Phineas is a very respectable, sensible man indeed."

Seemingly unaffected, Emmeline added; "And a most attentive neighbour."

From this Remus gathered that Lord Phineas was rather too attentive. Catching his friend's eye, they traded significant looks.

Pettigrew did not seem to perceive this level of meaning, which was probably a very good thing; "Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say! He is the sort of man whom one cannot possibly regard with too much deference."

The dinner continued in this fashion, and Remus begged to be allowed to retire to bed without the usual cigars and port with the gentlemen — "I fear I would be frightful company, Sir, for all the travel has snuffed my enthusiasm for tobacco entirely."

Remus did make the effort to linger in the stairwell to bid Emmeline goodnight, but found he had only four words with which to address her; "Your husband is ridiculous."

Emmeline smiled broadly, and kissed his cheek. "I know."

* * *

About the middle of the next day, as Remus was readying himself for a walk, a sudden noise from below seemed to stir the whole house into a frenzy; and, after listening a moment, Remus heard somebody running upstairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after him.

Remus opened the door and met Maria in the landing, who, breathless with agitation, cried out — "Oh, Remus! Pray make haste and come into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to be seen!"

Remus called after Maria in vain; but she would tell him nothing more, and he ran to follow her into the dining-room.

The fuss had been caused by nothing more than two ladies stopping in an open carriage at the garden gate.

"And is this all?" Remus huffed. "I expected at least that the pigs had gotten into the garden. Tell me, are our guests from Grimmauld? The carriage is very fine, I cannot think it could be from anywhere else."

"The old lady is Mrs. Filch, the caretaker; the other is Miss Bellatrix Black." Maria answered. "Only look at her... She is quite a wretched creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin and small?"

Remus observed the young woman seated nearest to the drive; she had heavy-lidded, hollowed-out eyes and pasty, sickly complexion. She was a shade too thin — her elbows poking out sharply and her whole form rather gaunt. She looked stiff and miserable, and did not bother to look at Emmeline directly as they conversed.

"Well, she is abominably rude to keep Emmeline out of doors in all this wind." Said Remus. "Why does she not come in?"

"Oh, Emmeline says she hardly ever does. It is one of the greatest of favours when Miss Bellatrix comes in."

"I like her appearance. She looks sickly and cross." Said Remus, struck by a vision of Mr. Black sat opposite the wretched creature, glowering at each other across a long dining table, united in perfect misery. "Yes, she will do for him very well... She will make him a proper wife."

"Who?" Maria asked, a note of confusion in her voice. "Is Miss Black betrothed?"

"No, not as such." Remus shook his head and gave Maria an easy smile. "Forgive me, I am only speaking nonsense. I've been rendered insensible by all this excitement."

Maria nodded, as though she could very well understand taking leave of one's sanity in view of the current circumstances. She stared out at the carriage fixedly until at last the ladies drove on.

Remus' own interest was more finite, and he had perched himself on the bay window with a small book of poems while awaiting his friend's return to the house.

Mr. Pettigrew no sooner saw the pair than he began to congratulate Remus and Maria on their good fortune, which Emmeline explained by letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at Grimmauld the next day.

Maria was predictably excited, and even Remus could not help but feel some measure of anticipation at the smorgasbord of human folly that dinner at Grimmauld Place would no doubt constitute.

* * *

Mr. Pettigrew's triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The opportunity to display the grandeur of his patron to his visitors, and of letting them see Lord Phineas's civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had wished for.

Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Grimmauld. Mr. Pettigrew was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect, so that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner, might not wholly overpower them. When at last they were separating to dress for the evening, he said to Remus — "Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lord Phineas is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes himself and his niece. I would advise you merely to put on whatever outfit is most superior to the rest — there is no occasion for anything more. Lord Phineas will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed." Pettigrew smiled in some facsimile of kindliness. "He likes to have the distinction of rank preserved."

While they were dressing, he came two or three times to their respective doors, to recommend their being quick, as Lord Phineas very much objected to be kept waiting for his dinner. On the second occasion he attempted this with Remus, he threw a boot at the door and begged that Pettigrew leave him to dress in peace.

Squeaking in fright at the assault, his fool cousin acquiesced and opted instead to accost poor Maria. The formidable accounts of his Lordship had quite frightened the girl, who, being rather young, had been little used to society in Godric's Hollow. Indeed, Remus was struck with the sense that Maria looked forward to her introduction at Grimmauld with as much apprehension as her father had done to his presentation at St. James's.

As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk across the park. Every wild place has its beauty and its prospects; and Remus saw much to be pleased with, though he could not be in such raptures as Mr. Pettigrew seemed to expect.

He was slightly put off by Mr. Pettigrew's enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing had originally cost Sir Cygnus Black some generations ago. When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm.

But Remus' courage did not fail him. He had heard nothing of Lord Phineas that indicated any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money and rank he thought he could face without trepidation.

From the entrance-hall, which Mr. Pettigrew pointed out had the finest proportions, they followed the servants through to the room where Lord Phineas, Miss Bellatrix, and Mrs. Filch were sitting.

There was something very French in Lord Phineas Nigellus Black's manner of dressing; his shirt was billowing and lace-trimmed, his blue satin waistcoat over-embroidered with fine silver, he wore his pantaloons in the southern style, and indeed his loafers were of a similar fashion. He was so heavily perfumed that Remus could easily smell it from across the room. He was immediately given to the impression that Lord Phineas was not often out of doors.

As for the man himself; His eyes were dark, shrewd and narrowed. His beard was black, oiled and pointed sharply. His skin was the same sort of pallid shade as Miss Bellatrix's. He had strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome.

Beyond that, there was an overwhelming air of condescension in the purse of Lord Phineas' lips; Remus was immediately disposed to dislike his manners.

His Lordship, with great condescension, arose to receive them; and as Emmeline had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary.

In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he only made a very low bow, and took his seat without saying a word. His daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look.

Remus found himself quite equal to the scene, and could observe the party before him composedly. Remus did not think that Lord Phineas was rendered particularly formidable by silence; and whatever he did say was spoken in so authoritative and drawling a tone, as to mark his obvious self-importance.

And indeed, there was little to be done at Grimmauld but to hear Lord Phineas talk, which he did without any intermission, delivering his opinion on every possible subject in so decisive a manner that Remus felt quite sure that this was a man unused to having his judgement controverted.

"Mrs Pettigrew informs me that you have three younger cousins, Mr. Lupin." It was the first time that Lord Phineas had troubled himself to address Remus all night.

"Aye, and one older, though only by a few months."

"Hmm." Lord Phineas tapped his chin with one long, silver-wrought finger — gemstones from the many fine rings nestled there glimmering dimly in the light. "And are any of your younger cousins out?"

"Yes, your Lordship, all of them."

" All? " Lord Phineas' shrewd eyes widened in shock at the wanton impropriety of it. "What, the younger children out before the elder ones are married? Your youngest cousin must be very young."

"She is not sixteen." Remus admitted. "She is rather young to be out much in company…" Remus mused for a moment. "But really, I think it very hard on younger siblings that they are deprived of their share of society just because their older relations haven't the means or inclination to marry early."

"Upon my word," crowed Lord Phineas, the slightest hint of affront in his voice, "you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person! Pray, what is your age?"

"With three younger cousins grown up," replied Remus, smiling, "your Lordship can hardly expect me to own it."

Lord Phineas seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer; and Remus suspected himself to be the first creature who had ever dared to trifle with the man with such a measure of dignified impertinence.

"Nonsense. You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, therefore you need not conceal your age."

Remus conceded the accuracy of the guess with a nod. "I am not one-and-twenty."

"And you are unmarried?" Lord Phineas asked, though the matter hardly required clarification.

"Yes, your Lordship, as you see."

"I had it from Mr. Pettigrew that your inclination was for gentlemen."

Remus raised his eyebrows at the directness of the statement. "Yes, your Lordship."

"And you are set on this?" Lord Phineas inquired, eyeing Remus with a calculating look.

"Resolutely."

"Pity." Lord Phineas sighed, and then, catching Remus' look, rushed to clarify; "I only meant that I knew of a very respectable lass — you know the one, Filch, Avery's fourth daughter, the poor thing with the pockmarks — that might have suited you nicely. She has enough of a dowry that you might purchase yourself a commission, I know you are not wealthy."

"No, I am not." Remus said. "But forgive me, I am not inclined to marry for comfort or convenience."

"Obviously." Lord Phineas' mouth formed the word slowly, and from this Remus gathered that the gentleman was perfectly aware of his having refused Pettigrew's proposal. "No, honestly, I've the deepest sympathies, Lupin. I myself refused to marry a lady in my day — there was only Marius for me, my late husband," he hastened to clarify, "Marius Flint, very respectable family. Excellent bloodlines. And as handsome and noble a man as ever I met."

Remus was surprised to hear the slight quaver in Lord Phineas' voice as he spoke of his long-dead husband. Remus had been given to understand that the man had passed over fifteen years ago, and had never imagined Lord Phineas to have any particular depth of feeling about the matter. Now, however, his affection for his late spouse was plain, and Remus could not help but feel badly for Lord Phineas; all alone this great, looming house with only his sullen niece and Mrs. Filch for company. No wonder he had practically assaulted them with conversation upon their arrival.

It was this kernel of compassion that moved Remus to ask; "For how long were you married, your Lordship?"

"Oh, maybe ten years." Lord Phineas said absently. "Not long enough. Sometimes I forget that.. that I've been his widow for longer than I'll ever be his husband, now."

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus observed that Mr. Pettigrew was having an entirely silent fit of panic. Indeed, nobody else in the room seemed brave enough to venture so much as a cough in view of Lord Phineas' sad declaration.

"It sounds like you loved him very much." Remus said simply, sensing that the truth would do.

"Yes." Lord Phineas seemed to come back to himself, and sniffed. "Yes, well, you know how these things are…" and then he was asking Emmeline about matters of housekeeping, and the subject was entirely dropped.

In spite of this, Remus got the impression that Lord Phineas rather liked having him there. Whether it was because he was generally deprived the society of other queer men, or because he could berate Remus — who always troubled to fight back in as pleasant a manner as possible — more spiritedly than he could the long-ago defeated Mr. Pettigrew or the disengaged Emmeline, Remus did not know. More surprising was Remus' own feelings towards the man. Lord Phineas was everything he had expected; proud, ill-mannered, stuffy, capricious, overbearing… but he was also a great many other things that Remus had not anticipated. Lonely, sad, bored, and perpetually in love with the long-absent ghost of his husband.

It was not the sort of thing Remus could easily make fun of. Nor did he think he had any particular inclination to try.

When it came time for them to depart, the carriage was offered, gratefully accepted and immediately ordered.

The party then gathered round the fire to hear Lord Phineas determine what weather they were to have on the morrow — gloomy, cloudy, with a moderate breeze in the afternoon. Then they were summoned by the arrival of the coach; and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Pettigrew's side and as many bows on Sir William's, they departed at last.

As soon as they had driven from the door, Remus was called on by his cousin to give his opinion of all that he had seen at Grimmauld, which, for Emmeline's sake, he made more favourable than it really was. But his sound commendation, though costing him some trouble and pride to offer, could by no means satisfy Mr. Pettigrew, and he was very soon obliged to take his Lordship's praise into his own hands.

* * *

Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and of her possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were not often met with. The entertainment of dining at Grimmauld was repeated about twice a week, during which time Lord Phineas displayed a singular interest in every aspect of Remus' personal life.

He had demanded a detailed account of the standing of both Remus' dead parents, the location of their old lodgings in London, and a review of Remus' schooling over the years. In every aspect, Remus sensed that he disappointed Lord Phineas, who seemed to be doggedly searching for some angle or vantage point that would justify integrating Remus into his circle of society.

Remus was not insensible to the compliment that Lord Phineas paid in behaving so, he certainly hadn't gone to that sort of trouble with his most faithful devotee, Mr. Pettigrew. But Lord Phineas was a classist through and through, and when Remus failed to manifest any quirk of good breeding or favourable connection, he adopted a singularly defeated air. It was evident that he was incredibly vexed at Remus' not marrying Mr. Pettigrew when he had the chance — which reminded Remus rather forcibly of his Aunt — so that he might have had the advantage of Remus' companionship at Grimmauld Place more permanently. As the weeks passed, Remus noted how Lord Phineas began to spread his focus more widely among the group once more, and felt a great measure of relief at being relinquished as the old man's project.

Their other engagements were few, as the style of living in the neighbourhood was beyond Mr. Pettigrew's reach. This, however, was no trouble to Remus, and upon the whole he spent his time comfortably; there were hours of pleasant conversation with Emmeline, and the weather was so fine for the time of year that he often had great enjoyment out of doors.

His favourite walk, and where he frequently went while the others were calling on Lord Phineas, was along the open grove which formed one side of the boundary of Grimmauld's extensive grounds, and which no one seemed to value but himself.

It was there alone that Remus felt beyond the reach of Lord Phineas' curiosity. His long, ambling walks constituted a pleasing monotony, which was inevitably doomed to be broken by some imposition or another.

This imposition came in the form of Maria — face flushed and curls dishevelled from running — crying out from down the lane for Remus to come back to the house at once.

Remus felt his heart quicken in his chest. "What on earth has happened, Maria? What's wrong? Is it Emmeline?"

"No, no, Emmie's fine..." Maria gasped and clutched a stitch in her side, having just caught up to Remus. Recovering herself after a mere moment, she grabbed his hand and started pulling him bodily back towards the residence.

" Maria — "

"Oh, we must hurry , Remus! Even now, the gentlemen are on their way to call!"

" Which gentlemen?" Remus asked, completely baffled. "Maria, who is coming to call?"

"Mr. Black, of course!" Maria said. "He arrived at Grimmauld this morning; he is visiting his Uncle! Surely you remember , Remus, we were told about it yesterday, only we never dreamed he would come to call on us directly — "

Remus remembered no such thing, and immediately felt a wave of trepidation at facing Mr. Black again. It felt like the spectre of Black had infected every corner of his life, recently.

"I don't recall anything of the sort." Remus said, suddenly feeling in no rush - he slowed his pace to a walk, much to Maria's chagrin.

"Oh, I suppose you mustn't've been there." Maria fretted. "Oh, but please hurry, Remus. We will not beat them back if you insist on walking so slowly!"

"I see no need to anticipate their arrival." Remus said dryly. "They did not inform us of their coming; if Mr. Black really wishes to see me, which I very much doubt he does , then I daresay he can survive waiting while I finish my walk in peace."

Maria had a most agonised expression, and after a few more meagre attempts to force Remus to run back to the parsonage, took off herself without him.

Remus did not trouble himself to rush, but did take the short way back, raking a hand through his slightly windswept hair as he did. He didn't feel any particular need to fix it, no doubt Black would enjoy the opportunity of mocking his peasant appearance, anyway.

* * *

Sirius paced the length of the day-room at Pettigrew's parsonage in thinly-veiled agitation. Lupin was supposed to be staying here, so where exactly was he now? The whole object in calling upon the odious clergyman was to get a glance at Lupin — it had been three months, at least , since they had last met and danced at Peverell.

Not that Sirius was counting.

Sirius had tried, during that time, to distract himself from thoughts of Lupin, but this had been largely futile. Sirius had thought that the many diversions of London society would be enough to sever the highly irregular attachment, but hardly a day had passed in which Sirius had not devoted some stretch of time to ruminating on Lupin's character and form, the memory of the sound of his voice, his laugh, his eyes…

Sirius huffed, and directed a sullen look at Mrs Pettigrew and Miss Maria Vance, who, along with Mr. Pettigrew, had been the only ones to receive them upon their arrival. The ladies were engaged in pleasant conversation with Sirius' cousin, who had made the journey to Grimmauld with him — Colonel Frank Longbottom.

Frank spoke easily with his new acquaintances; offering a number of highly complimentary — overly complimentary, in Sirius' opinion — observations on the house and gardens to Mrs. Pettigrew, who received these comments with evident pleasure. Mr. Pettigrew had made some faltering attempts at engaging Sirius in conversation, but Lupin's absence had put Sirius in no mood to humour the little sycophant. The gentleman now hovered awkwardly in Sirius' periphery, too fearful to speak, but not yet quite willing to abandon the possibility that Sirius would spontaneously choose to address him.

Sirius cocked his head at the sound of somebody in the entranceway. He could make out Lupin's lilting brogue as the gentleman addressed the Pettigrew's housekeeper, and then the sound of footfalls rapidly approaching.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair quite automatically, wondering if it still looked well after the ride down from Grimmauld.

When Lupin entered the room, Sirius felt a fluttering in his stomach that made him feel like nothing less than an absolute bloody girl. The other man's cheeks were flushed from his walk, his curls breeze-ruffled and unkempt — he had an air of vitality and hardiness, and Sirius thought that nothing in his imagination could compare to seeing Lupin in the flesh.

"If I had known of your coming today I might not have walked so far," Lupin said airily, offering no apology for his absence, and surveying Sirius in a way that made his words catch in his throat. He swallowed, and stumbled through introducing Lupin to Frank without too much embarrassment.

"My cousin, Colonel Frank Longbottom." Sirius muttered, gesturing to Frank, who had risen at once and bowed to Lupin. "Colonel, this is Mr. Remus Lupin; I made his acquaintance during my stay in Godric's Hollow." He hardly needed add this; he had confided in Frank his strange attachment to Remus during their recent travels — the man knew almost every particular of the matter.

Lupin returned Frank's bow and smiled easily. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Colonel."

"The pleasure is all mine, I have heard so much about you, Mr. Lupin." Frank said, and Sirius had the good grace to blush.

"Dear me, then I must beg you not to believe all that Black says about me — allow me the opportunity to form a halfway-decent impression without his censure!" Lupin cast a sidelong glance at Sirius, his lip quirking in a wicked sort of way — and all at once Sirius knew he was about to be teased. "Mr. Black is my severest critic, you see."

"Indeed?" Frank queried. "I am most surprised to hear that!"

"Why should you be?" Remus frowned, apparently taken aback by this — he glanced at Sirius in what he thought might be suspicion. Unconsciously, Sirius felt his shoulders tense. He tried to roll them out without drawing too much attention to his discomforted state — he wanted more than anything to appear respectable in Lupin's eyes. He knew that he'd made somewhat of a mess of that in the past — his reticence around strangers in Godric's Hollow had not worked to his advantage, and he doubted that Lupin found him to be particularly diverting company.

Frank tilted his head at Lupin and gave an easy smile. "Because my cousin has done little else but sing your praises from London to Hunsford, Mr. Lupin."

This, remarkably, gave Lupin pause. Sirius had not often seen the other man lost for words, but apparently the notion of Sirius praising him openly had him entirely stumped.

Maybe I should be a bit more complimentary in my address… Sirius mused. He had, after all, utterly failed to set Lupin aside over the past few months. The time had come to refocus on a new objective — securing Lupin's good opinon.

To what end, he had not yet decided.

In any case, securing Lupin's affections would probably be more straightforward if the man wasn't openly shocked at having been complimented by him. Sirius resolved to improve in this regard. Compliments. People like to be complimented by their suitors. Maybe you could say something nice about his hair… no, that's stupid .

Sirius was torn away from his ruminations by Lupin, who had recovered himself, and addressed Frank with an amiable smile; "Perhaps Mr. Black simply means to excite your anticipation, only to have me fail abominably."

Sirius knew he was being teased. Lupin had done this sort of thing before, after all.

He rose to the bait all the same.

" His intentions were rather more honourable," Sirius said shortly, immensely disliking the way in which is presence was being ignored. "If you cared to ask directly, Lupin, I could enlighten you to their nature."

Lupin raised a single eyebrow, and Sirius felt that this was rather a poor start at being more pleasant and attentive to the man. "By all means, Mr. Black, enlighten me."

Sirius swallowed thickly, and avoided Lupin's eyes in favour of staring at the floor. "I only told Frank a little of your education. That… that your knowledge of classics is quite good. And that you dance well."

"Oh." Lupin's surprise was palpable; his amber eyes widened. "Well, er — "

"Come now, Sirius! You told me a great deal more than that!" Frank said affably, slapping Sirius on the shoulder. Sirius grimaced, and shot Frank a warning look.

Remus glanced between them curiously, missing nothing, and Sirius thought he might actually kill his cousin.

"No, I think that was all." Sirius said to Frank through gritted teeth, and gave the man a meaningful glare. "Perhaps you are misremembering things, Colonel. You did drink an awful lot in Fenton."

"You see, Colonel, Mr. Black would rather me think you a drunk than allow me the mistaken impression of his regard." Lupin's voice was mild, but Sirius felt a chill all the same — his expression had become curiously serene all of a sudden. "I suppose I was right in the first instance — Mr. Black is my severest critic, and we are not the best of friends."

"I shall not argue with you, Mr. Lupin." Frank smiled, not nearly as concerned as Sirius was by the abundant verbal cuts and barbs, which seemed to have been cultivated specifically for Sirius' benefit. "Though I maintain that I am most surprised to hear it."

"Your family, are they well?" Sirius said abruptly, desperately wishing for a change of subject. "Your Aunt? Your cousins?"

This piece of civility did little to warm Lupin. "When I left Longbourn some weeks ago they were all in excellent health, Sir. Thank you." He paused, and then added; "Lily has been in town these past three months, have you never happened to see her?"

"I have not had the pleasure of meeting with the eldest Miss Evans, no." Sirius replied shortly, though he was perfectly cognizant of her having been in town. "I confess I spent most of my time in London on my brother — we do not get to see each other as much as I would like."

"He lives there permanently?" Lupin asked. "And not with you in the family home?"

"At present, he lives with the Colonel and his wife." Sirius said, nodding at Frank. "They have been kind enough to watch over Regulus as he pursues his own interests."

"Regulus is very talented on the pianoforte." Frank chipped in. "Sirius has engaged the best tutors in London to teach him — Regulus is quite spoiled by him."

"He entirely deserves it." Sirius said, knowing that Frank meant no offence. Sirius did, it must be said, have a tendency to dote over his younger brother. But that was the role of a guardian, he reasoned, and Regulus had been through enough hardship in his short life already.

"No doubt." Lupin said. "But you must miss him terribly."

Sirius thought of his younger brother — slighter than himself, gentler, softer. He thought of what it had been like to watch Regulus' childhood unfold in the lush grounds of Pemberley — showing him the secret little woods, swimming in the lake together in high summer, teaching him how to fish — very badly, admittedly. Sirius was almost ten years Regulus' senior, and some days he felt more like Regulus' father than his brother.

Heaven knows, Orion had done little to deserve the title.

"I do." Sirius admitted. "Forgive me, I fear we've trespassed long enough on your privacy. My uncle has asked that I extend an invitation to the whole party to join us for dinner at Grimmauld tomorrow evening — Mr. Pettigrew, would that be agreeable?"

Mr. Pettigrew spluttered that it was, but Sirius didn't trouble himself to look at the man directly.

As he took his leave, he took the opportunity to drink in the sight of Lupin's face; not wholly contented with the prospect of seeing him on the morrow. "Goodbye, Lupin."

Lupin looked as though he was in the midst of puzzling something out, but offered a brief, tight smile all the same. "Goodbye, Mr. Black."


	13. We, neither of us, perform to strangers

Dinner and cards at Grimmauld the following night served to do little else than baffle Remus exceedingly.

For some time now, he had thought Black's conduct strange and confusing — but the attentions he paid Remus this evening were wholly without explanation. No, scratch that, they were beyond the very bounds of human understanding.

First, Black had pulled Remus' chair out for him at dinner, flushing darkly and muttering something largely unintelligible. Remus thought it might've been a strange jumble of niceties — that in itself was bizarre, as Black had never made much of a point of being terribly polite to him in the past.

_Then_ he had gone out of his way to be complimentary during their meager conversation over dinner. Lord Phineas dominated discourse, as usual, but, when the topic had turned to an exhaustive account of all the country dances that Black had attended while in the Hollow, he went out of his way to be _kind_ to Remus.

"I was very fortunate to stand up with Mr. Lupin at Peverell House." Black had said to his Uncle, staring at Remus intently. "He is a superb dancer — very graceful. And he looked quite exceptionally well — he was wearing some very fine blue tails, if I recall. I must have been the envy of every man and woman left unattached that night."

A stilted silence fell over the table. Remus' soup spoon hovered uncertainly in the space between the bowl and his mouth as he openly gaped at Black. For her part, Emmeline looked politely surprised by the proclamation, and Colonel Longbottom was smiling as though this kindness from Black the most normal thing in the world. But Lord Phineas had become silent and grave, his eyes darting between Mr. Black and Remus shrewdly, and he seemed on the verge of cutting in when Remus, at last, recovered himself.

"You are too kind." Remus managed to keep his tone somewhat even. "But really, Mr. Black, I'm sure you will agree that it is no achievement to be so admired in such _confined_ and _unvarying_ society."

Black's eyes widened fractionally before his expression darkened and set. He turned his face from Remus, which afforded a good view of the way his cheeks pinked and the muscle in his jaw worked as he no doubt battled with his abominable temper.

Feeling some savage satisfaction, Remus smiled genially and engaged Colonel Longbottom in conversation, asking if he had ever come out their way in his travels with the military.

For his part, Black spent the rest of the dinner in sullen and resolute silence. The occupants of Grimmauld did not seem to find this wholly surprising, however, and conversation carried on around the sulking man without incident.

Privately, Remus was more than mildly astonished that Black even _remembered_ what he had been wearing on the night of the ball at Peverell. At length, he concluded that Black must be naturally inclined towards the retention of small details — no doubt a by-product of his most fastidious disposition.

After dinner, Remus played the pianoforte at the special request of Colonel Longbottom, who Remus concluded he liked very much. The Colonel was amiable and warm, his manners easy, but not presumptuous, and Remus thought it altogether quite strange that the Colonel was not yet married. Indeed, if he was capable of mustering even an ounce of romantic interest in him, he'd be inclined to marry the Colonel himself.

Remus played moderately well on the pianoforte, and Colonel Longbottom was kind enough to keep him company while he did. He sat on the bench next to Remus, turning the pages for him and kept up a stream of easy conversation.

In the next room over, Lord Phineas and the rest of the party sat. From what Remus could hear, Lord Phineas was lecturing the congregation on the many virtues of _proper_ musical training — which Remus gathered he did not possess, as when he finished the song, Lord Phineas called out from his armchair in the other room, his voice carrying easily;

"You will never play _really_ well, Mr. Lupin, unless you _practice_ more."

Remus opened his mouth to reply when he was cut off by Lord Phineas' drawling voice once more; "You may come to Grimmauld as often as you like and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Filch's room," Remus spied him turning to make a comment to the wider party; "He would be in nobody's way in that part of the house."

Remus held back a chuckle. "Thank you, your Lordship. You are too kind."

"There are few people in England, I suppose…"

Remus noticed Black standing up and walking into the piano room, leaving Lord Phineas mid-sentence.

"...who have more true enjoyment in music than myself. Or a better taste."

Remus smiled inwardly as Lord Phineas continued to speak, while Mr. Pettigrew nodded vigorously. Miss Bellatrix looked bored and ill, and Remus had yet to hear Mrs. Filch make a single noise in the entirety of their short acquaintance.

"...And if I had ever learnt, I should be a _true_ proficient."

Remus couldn't help a low chuckle at that, and Colonel Longbottom shot him a secretive smile of amusement. Remus started up a few chords again, ambling into the beginning of another song.

He was aware of Mr. Black's looming presence — the man stared at him from just the other side of the pianoforte.

"Do you mean to frighten me, Mr. Black, by coming in all this state to hear me?" Remus chuckled. "But I won't be alarmed — my courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

Colonel Longbottom smiled, and to Remus' surprise, so did Black.

"I know you find great enjoyment in professing opinions which are not your own." Black said wryly, and Remus had the sense that Black was actually trying to _tease_ him. As if they were friends.

Well, two could play at that game.

"Your cousin would teach you not to believe a word I say, Colonel Longbottom." Remus said, smiling pleasantly at Black as he continued to play. "That is ungenerous of him, is it not?"

"It is, indeed!"

Remus glanced slyly at Black. "Impolitic too, for it provokes me to retaliate, and say somewhat of his behaviour in Godric's Hollow, which may shock his relations."

Black smiled — actually _smiled —_ at that, and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the dark lacquered surface of the pianoforte.

"I am not afraid of you." His voice was low and warm, which surprised Remus enough that he stopped playing. Remus was struck with an unfamiliar wriggling feeling in his guts, and felt his cheeks heat under the constancy of Black's uncharacteristically warm gaze.

"What have you to accuse him of?" Asked the Colonel. "I should dearly like to know how he behaves among strangers!"

Recovering himself, Remus turned to the Colonel. "The first time I ever saw Mr. Black was at a ball, where he danced only _four_ dances, though gentlemen were scarce, and many were in want of a partner — I am sorry to pain you, but so it was."

The Colonel snorted a laugh, slapping his knee. "I can well believe it."

Black fiddled with a signet ring on his left hand, and seemed to be pondering his response.

At length, he said; "I fear I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers."

It was not what Remus had expected him to say. Even so, Remus began to play a few more chords and addressed the Colonel; "Shall we ask him why?"

Black watched Remus' playing steadily. Remus pretended not to notice.

"...why a man of sense and education, who has lived in the world, should be ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?" Remus continued, sparing a glance up at Black — and finding to his surprise that the other man looked somewhat uncomfortable.

"I'm…" He started, and then cut himself off. "I have not that talent, which some possess, of conversing easily with strangers."

Remus frowned, tilting his head at Black. "I do not play this instrument so well as I would like, but I have always supposed that to be my own fault, because I would not take the trouble of practicing."

For some reason these words caused Black to smile. "You are perfectly right." He said. "You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you could think anything wanting. We, neither of us, perform to strangers."

Remus stopped playing altogether — casting a scrutinizing look at the other man. What precisely did Black think he was _doing_?

The long silence was broken by Lord Phineas, calling from the other room;

"Pray, what are you talking of?" Crowed Lord Phineas. "Nephew, what are you telling Mr. Lupin? I must have my share in the conversation!"

Black rolled his eyes in annoyance, and leaned back from the pianoforte. Remus was sure he heard him huff. As if he was wanted to speak to Remus badly enough that the interruption had frustrated him.

But that simply couldn't be.

Could it?


	14. Perhaps I have walked too far today

Sirius awoke with no small measure of vim and vigour. This uncharacteristic display of energy and enthusiasm was borne, primarily, from the belief that he was — _at last_ — making progress with Lupin.

Not that Sirius was in any way mentally addled — he knew very well that Lupin did not love him. Indeed, most of the time, it seemed that Lupin struggled to even _like_ him.

Yet, in spite of this, Sirius found himself filled with hope for his future prospects of marital felicity.

There were two simple reasons for Sirius' optimism.

The first being; He had offered a number of compliments to Lupin last night, and only half of them had been rejected outright. Given Lupin's propensity to fight him at every turn, their only vaguely hostile evening together at Grimmauld was — to Sirius' mind at least — significant progress.

The second (and altogether more exciting) reason being; That there had been a moment, when Sirius had leaned towards Lupin across the pianoforte, that Lupin's cheeks had pinked and his eyes had roved freely — _hungrily_, Sirius fancied — across his face and body. Naturally, Sirius felt the only reasonable explanation for Lupin's looking was a growing sense of attraction towards him.

It was the second-ever occasion that Sirius had been the object of Lupin's admiration, even fleetingly — the other being a small moment during their dance at Peverell, when he felt sure that Lupin had looked — and, having looked, enjoyed what he saw.

Sirius knew — had always known, really — that he was handsome.

His mother had often told him so, and all the servants had fussed over what a good-looking lad he was. It had certainly never been a source of insecurity for him. No, his weakness lay in the realm of social performance. Small talk. Niceties. He never could abide the way such pleasantries stuck in his throat, or else left his mouth in an insincere, asinine jumble.

He was not very good, he knew, at sounding genuine.

Even so, he had rationally concluded that any object of his affections could not possibly be indifferent to his appearance — even if they had some sense of his not-insubstantial social deficiency (which _surely_ could be overlooked in view of how very handsome, wealthy and highborn he was — one man could not have everything, after all).

But Lupin's admiration — of any aspect of Sirius' person — was bestowed so sparingly, so grudgingly, that Sirius thought he might be forfeiting his sanity trying to tempt the man.

_How _do_ you tempt a man?_ Sirius wondered. He'd never really had to try before. Usually he just sort of stood around and let other people make the introductions. It was always awkward for him, responding stiffly to the romantic overtures of his shallow-minded admirers. Gentlemen who, for the most part, didn't know a single thing about Sirius — beyond the very fine pedigree of both his name and his face, that is.

And none of them had been very clever.

Sirius sighed wistfully. _Lupin_ was clever.

He knew very well that he would have to marshall his good progress with some sort of follow-up gesture. More conversation. More compliments.

It was tedious, certainly, but it must be done.

Fortunately, he had it on good authority that Lupin would be home alone today. He could drop by, pretend to be surprised at finding him without company…

Yes, Sirius thought, he would call on Lupin.

Invigorated at the prospect of his task, Sirius took prodigious care in dressing, and summoned his horse from the stable. He felt certain that both the compliment he paid Lupin in calling on him, as well as the more intimate setting, would be sufficient to ensure the development of _some_ partiality on Lupin's behalf.

_Surely_ it would be enough for Lupin to recognise Sirius' intentions, and martial his own feelings appropriately so that he might accept Sirius quickly when he did, at last, propose. Only a madman would refuse such a match, after all.

Yes, Sirius had decided that marriage was his object. He could no longer deny the singular attachment and regard he felt for Lupin. He had never met anybody, high or low, capable of making him feel this way. Living apart from Lupin, marrying somebody else… the prospect filled Sirius with little else but misery and dread.

So he would propose. And Lupin would accept. And they would live in peace and happiness at Pemberley.

For his part, Sirius was confident that he would grow on Lupin once they were married, once he was comfortably back where he belonged; at Pemberley. Lupin would, at last, be able to see him for who he truly was, without all the awkwardness.

He could imagine it with such beautiful clarity. Regulus would visit in the summer, and Sirius knew that his brother would love Lupin. He thought it likely that Lupin would, in turn, take quickly to Regulus, as his younger brother was in possession of rather gentle, pleasing manners. Lupin would like the library, of course — Pemberley had quite the collection. And the prospect from the main gallery to the lake, which was very fine. And the grounds, wild and pleasing in equal measure… Yes, Sirius thought that Lupin would love the grounds best of all.

_Well_, Sirius revised. Maybe he would love _Sirius_ best of all, when all was said and done. It would take time, no doubt. But Sirius could afford be patient once he secured Lupin's hand. Lupin would be comfortable and happy at Pemberley, and Sirius would spoil him horribly. He'd buy him fine clothes, fine books, fine instruments… He'd take Lupin travelling, wherever he wanted to go. He'd even pay tuition fees for Cambridge, if that was what Lupin wanted. Sirius wouldn't mind letting a house in Cambridgeshire for a few years, if it meant that Lupin would get the education he deserved. Lupin would not fail to see, in time, how earnestly Sirius wanted to give him everything — how truly Sirius loved him.

_He'll love me_. Sirius told himself as he slung a leg over the saddle of his horse, and gripped the reins tightly. _In time, he'll love me the way I love him_.

* * *

Remus had planned on devoting his free morning to letter-writing, but it was not to be.

He owed Lily a reply, along with a full account of every mad thing he'd seen while staying at Hunsford. Lily would certainly be surprised to learn of Mr. Black's appearance at Grimmauld, and his match — the sickly Miss Bellatrix. Remus also had a great deal to tell about the amiable Colonel Longbottom, as well as the regular update on the many adventures of his fool cousin Pettigrew and the most _noble Lord Phineas Nigellus Black_.

He had just finished penning a rather vivid passage about Lord Phineas' conduct at dinner the night before — omitting, for reasons unclear even to himself, any mention of Black's strange politeness and attempts at flattery — when one of Pettigrew's servants announced a visitor.

Remus waved his letter to dry the ink, and placed a blank sheet over it before nodding for his unexpected guest to be allowed entry.

Mr. Black, of all people, strode in, pulling off his very fine fox-skin riding gloves as he did. He bowed stiffly to Remus. "Mr. Lupin."

Rather taken aback, Remus blurted; "Mr. Black," and automatically sunk into a replying bow, and gestured for Black to take a seat.

Black pulled out a chair to face Remus and sat down, crossing his legs with his gloves in one hand and a walking stick in the other. He shifted uncomfortably, and avoided Remus' eye.

The servant — a heavyset housemaid with red cheeks — bobbed a curtsy before leaving, closing the door behind her. Remus was suddenly struck with the sense of being an animal caught in a box-trap.

"Mrs. Pettigrew and Maria have just now gone into Hunsford village with my cousin." Remus said, figuring that his solitary state required some explanation. "You find me all alone this morning, Mr. Black."

Remus rather thought that it went without saying that Black should therefore leave, but the other gentleman seemed to have no intention of that. He only nodded, grey eyes moving to meet Remus' after a fashion, and offered no further reply.

Indeed, Black did not seem wholly surprised at finding Remus alone — his face was impassive and calm — which struck Remus as very strange, indeed.

Remus returned to his own seat, and shuffled uncomfortably, casting around for something to say. There was no buffer between them now — Remus could hardly ignore Black outright.

"I was just writing a letter to Lily, in London." He said, catching sight of the corner of the letter which he had hastily hidden on the writing desk. "I find I have much to tell her about Grimmauld."

"Ah."

Silence descended upon the room again, thick and heavy.

"Mr. Potter and his friends were well, I hope, when you left London." Remus tried again, feeling very much like he was pulling teeth.

"Perfectly so, I thank you."

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and wondered again why Black had even come, if he was so resolved to be taciturn and mute. "I understand Mr. Potter has not much idea for ever returning to Peverell."

Black nodded, expression neutral. "It is probable that he may spend very little time there in the future."

"If he means to be there so little, it would be better for the neighbourhood if he gave the place up entirely." Remus said, a little irritably.

Black raised an eyebrow at Remus' tone. "I should not be surprised if he were to give it up, as soon as any eligible purchase offers."

Remus and Mr. Black stared off into the room, each avoiding the other's eye, silent for a long while.

Remus thought it must've been the most agonising interaction he'd ever suffered through — and that was saying something, as he'd known Mr. Black for some months now, and was no stranger to the general sense of discomfort that seemed to follow the other gentleman wherever he went.

After a fashion, Black spoke, surprisingly calm and steady; "This seems a very comfortable house."

Taken aback at his pronouncement that the house was fine, which seemed to carry with it no veiled insult, Remus only managed to nod in response.

Black carried on. "Lord Phineas, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr. Pettigrew first came to Hunsford."

Remus recovered his voice and replied; "I believe he did. And I'm sure he could not have bestowed his kindness on a more grateful recipient."

Black chuckled and Remus found himself smiling, too. It was odd — very odd.

Remus shook off his feeling of disquiet and resolved to be civil. Emmeline would prefer that he did so, and of course Lily would counsel him to be kind. Especially seeing as Black was clearly making some sort of effort.

"Lord Phineas appears to be very fond of his late husband." Remus said, unable to stop himself casting his gaze over Black's face for any sign of illness or insanity. He'd been so _strange_, lately, with all of his politeness and his compliments. Remus could not make heads nor tails of it.

"I remember Marius from my youth." Sirius said, seeming entirely sane and well. "He was a good sort of man, and if you can believe it, my Lord uncle was rather less pompous when Marius was alive."

Remus felt a smile curve his lips. "Well, I suppose I cannot imagine him being _more_ pompous."

Sirius chuckled again. "Indeed." He did not wait for silence to descend again before changing topic, to Remus' growing surprise. "Mr. Pettigrew appears extremely fortunate in his choice of wife."

_Understatement of the year,_ Remus thought. "Yes, indeed, he is. Though, seen in a prudential light, it is a good match for her as well."

"I confess, I expected Mr. Pettigrew might make _you_ an offer. He seemed positively smitten when last we met."

He thought this was a rather strange way of reminding Remus that he'd brazenly stolen him from Pettigrew for a dance. "He might've done."

Black cast an assessing gaze Remus' way. "But you rejected him."

"Evidently." Remus smiled wryly. "Does that surprise you, Mr. Black? I am told that it was a very eligible match, for someone of my meager standing."

"Not at all." Black said, voice low and eyes intense. "I know very well you'd never accept somebody like Pettigrew."

Remus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "You seem very certain of that."

Black laughed shortly. "Lupin, I hadn't known you a fortnight before I realised how _very_ disinclined you were to suffer fools. And you will forgive me for saying so, but your cousin must be the biggest fool ever to make my acquaintance."

"That is a singularly ungenerous assessment." Remus said mildly, as though he didn't completely agree. He leaned back in his chair. "I should reprimand you for speaking so."

"But you won't." Black said softly. "You won't."

"Whyever not? I reprimand you for almost everything else you say."

Black burst into laughter. It sounded genuine and mirthful — his head thrown back to expose the pale column of his throat and the sharp line of his jaw.

He looked very handsome when he laughed like that, his eyes crinkling in the corners… Remus saw a radiance there which entirely surprised him.

"Perhaps I like it." Black then said, still smiling that unexpectedly bright smile. "You reprimanding me."

Remus felt as though he had missed a step going down the stairs — his stomach swooped, his mouth felt dry. He started to reply and then found he had no words.

This is _strange_, he thought. It was as though Black meant to flirt with him.

Black kept looking at Remus, his expression warm and unfamiliar to Remus, before tactfully changing topic. Lightly, he remarked; "It must be very agreeable for Mrs Pettigrew to be settled within so easy a distance of her family."

"An easy distance, do you call it?" Remus frowned. "It's nearly fifty miles."

Black shrugged. "What is fifty miles of good road?" He asked rhetorically. "Yes, I call it a very easy distance."

Remus thought. "I suppose near and far are relative terms... It is possible to be settled _too_ near one's family."

"Yes, exactly." Black said, as though Remus had at last reached the point. He looked Remus straight in the eye; "You would not wish to be always near Longbourn, I think."

Remus was stunned and confused, his mind racing as he frantically tried to sort out the implications of Black's words. Because this _really_ felt like flirting.

But before he could form a reply, Black rose abruptly to leave. "I shall trespass on your time no longer." He bowed shortly. "Please convey my regards to Mrs Pettigrew and her sister."

Remus prepared to stand up, but Black cut him off.

"Er, no, no. Please, don't trouble yourself." Black said, having already paced halfway across the room. He nodded once more in Remus' direction before swiftly shutting the drawing-room door behind him.

Remus — already half-risen from his seat — blinked in bewilderment before slumping back down and sighing. Suddenly alone in the room, each word of their conversation now swam in his mind like a bizarre soup of thoughts. To visit, to flirt, to flee… Black's conduct made little sense to him.

As he puzzled over it, one question returned again and again to the forefront of Remus' mind;

_What on earth did he mean by all that talk of marriage? _

* * *

The following day, Remus took the enjoyment of a walk around the outer grounds of Grimmauld Place. He had hoped for solitude, but could not bring himself to be disappointed when Colonel Longbottom called out to him.

"Mr. Lupin!"

The Colonel walked towards him, removing his hat in salutation.

"Colonel Longbottom!" Remus smiled warmly, and moved to meet him halfway.

"I've been making the tour of the park, as I do every year." The Colonel explained with a bright smile. "Shall we take this way together?"

"I'd be delighted."

Remus and Colonel Longbottom began walking, striking up easy conversation as they were prone to do nowadays.

"Do you know Mr. Potter?" Remus asked, realising that he didn't know the answer.

"I know him a little." The Colonel replied. "Potter is a pleasant, gentlemanlike man. I'm sure you know he's a great friend of Black's."

Remus hoped he did not sound too sardonic when he replied; "Mr. Black is uncommonly kind to Mr. Potter, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."

The Colonel, entirely unaware of Remus' tone, agreed pleasantly; "Oh, yes, I believe Black _does_ take care of him." He paused, as though weighing his next words with care. "I, er, I understand that he congratulates himself on having lately saved Mr. Potter the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage."

Remus froze. _No. He can't mean Lily_. He forced himself to remain light and casual as he inquired; "Did Mr. Black give any reason for this interference?"

"I understand there were some very strong objections to the lady."

Remus thought of the way Black and McKinnon had looked down upon the Evanses, and now had little doubt that Colonel Longbottom could be talking of anybody but Lily.

"And why was he to be the judge?" Remus asked sharply, his heart rabbiting away at a furious pace. _That bastard, that knave, that scoundrel_—

"You are disposed to think his interference, officious?" The Colonel asked, eyes widened in surprise.

"I do not see what right Mr. Black had to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy." Remus replied hotly, before catching himself and taking a breath. He mustn't be so obvious. "...But, as you say, we know none of the particulars. Perhaps there was not much affection in the case."

"Mm, perhaps not, but if that were the case, it would lessen the honour of Black's triumph very sadly, don't you think?" The Colonel laughed, having no notion that Remus' fury was building with every word.

His mind was racing. Black separated Lily from Mr. Potter. Black conspired to take Potter away to London. Black discouraged Potter from pursuing Lily. It all made perfect sense now — Potter's abrupt change of heart, the suddenness with which he had left the Hollow. Remus had credited Miss McKinnon with the lion's share of the manipulation, but now it seemed perfectly obvious that Black had been the architect of this most unhappy situation.

Remus savagely kicked a rock, hissing when it stayed lodged in the ground and stubbed his toe.

The Colonel looked at him strangely. "Mr. Lupin, are you quite well?"

"A sudden headache." Remus said stiffly, trying to ignore the dull throb in his foot and the rage burning in his throat. "Perhaps I've walked too far today."

The Colonel smiled in sudden understanding. "Of course, let us take the shorter way back. You must rest."

The Colonel offered Remus his arm, and Remus accepted as they made to walk back towards Hunsford — all the while his head spinning with rage and sadness and thoughts of Black.

Black had destroyed Lily's best chance at happiness — and Potter's, for that matter — simply because he thought the Evanses unworthy of association with his well-heeled friend. And it was not even the first time Black had ruined somebody's life without remorse — Barty had suffered at his hands, too.

As he walked back to Hunsford, Remus could only think that he had never, in the whole entirety of his life, met somebody as hateful as Sirius Black.


	15. Ardently

Dearest Reader, if you had told Remus Lupin that Mr. Pettigrew's offer of marriage would not even merit the title of most offensive proposal received in his lifetime, he would not have believed you.

It is important to note that this disbelief would not have had a basis in false modesty. Remus knew perfectly well that another offer might someday be made to him — though this was hardly certain — and he was uncomfortably aware of the way that his perceived desirability had skyrocketed in recent months.

Indeed, Remus rather felt that the past year had yielded more suitors than he knew what to do with. And between the unwelcome attentions of Pettigrew, his ill-fated flirtation with Barty, and — perhaps chiefly — the most baffling half-advances of Mr. Black (who Remus was growing to think of as some sort of hellspawn arch-nemesis), Remus was quickly becoming disenchanted with the notion of courtship as a whole.

Rather, the basis of his disbelief lay with the mistaken assumption that nobody could hope to outdo Pettigrew's address — who, after all, could be so careless, so demeaning, as to offer their hand in marriage without neither care nor reference to the feelings of the individual they dared profess to love ?

In short, it was the kind of singular stupidity that Remus was certain rested with Pettigrew and Pettigrew alone.

Oh, but Remus had been wrong. So wrong.

But these things are always more easily perceived in hindsight, Reader, and so we must forgive our young Mr. Lupin his lack of foresight.

It had begun unassumingly — as these things often do — with a fake head-cold, and an aborted visit to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Remus — who was looking rather pale and out of sorts — sat heavily into a chair in the front hall of the parsonage. Maria, Mr. Pettigrew, and Emmeline prepared to depart for Grimmauld — Lord Phineas had invited the whole household for dinner, as had become routine during Remus' stay.

"You're sure, Remus?" Emmeline fretted. "Because I would willingly stay at home with you, and brave all Lord Phineas' displeasure…"

Mr. Pettigrew's head snapped around with alarming swiftness, his expression most scandalised. "My dear Emmeline, I beg you to reconsider! My most noble Lord and patron would insist— "

"I shall be quite alright." Remus cut in assuringly, feeling wan and tired — he was not at all recovered from the news Colonel Longbottom had let slip that very afternoon, and had no intention of facing Black anytime soon. "It is only a headache — it will pass. And, I'm sure, more speedily in quiet and solitude."

Pettigrew relaxed marginally, and smiled piteously at Remus, as though he could not quite believe the fates would be so cruel as to strike Remus down with such an illness as would prevent him from visiting with the very noble and esteemed Lord Phineas. "Do not worry, cousin — I am quite sure, when all the circumstances are fully explained to Lord Phineas, that he will not be angry." Pettigrew offered Remus a consoling pat on the shoulder, which he returned with a flat, bemused stare. "...For he has such Christian generosity of spirit—"

"—My dear, the time." Emmeline cut in, evidently sensing a sermon brewing. Remus shot his friend a grateful look — he was certainly in no fit mood to be dealing with Mr. Pettigrew today.

"Oh, my dear! Why did you not say before?" Pettigrew demanded in a fluster, plucking his hat and walking stick from the hands of a servant and ushering Emmeline and Maria out the door without so much as a backward glance at Remus. "I cannot begin to count the occasions on which his Lordship has impressed upon me the sovereign importance on punctuality !"

Remus closed his eyes — the echoing footfalls and door-slams that accompanied the party's departure excessively loud to his ears. He rubbed his temples tiredly, and slowly walked into the adjoining room. He needed to think, and rest .

For, as it turned out, being all at once filled with fiery contempt and righteous anger at the man who had destroyed the happiness of his most beloved cousin was rather an exhausting affair.

Alone at the parsonage, Remus occupied himself with mulling over what Longbottom had told him, reviewing everything he knew of Lily and Potter in light of the revelation of Black's sabotage. Remus amused himself with devising punishments for Black's treachery, which grew increasingly gruesome and imaginative over the course of the hour.

Remus was trying to recall the name of one particularly obscure torture device originating in France when he was startled by an abrupt knock at the door.

Remus sat bolt-upright, having long ago reclined on the chaise in order to more comfortably visualise Black's suffering.

His brow furrowed in confusion. It was too early by far for Emmeline and the others to have returned, and everyone else in his acquaintance in Hunsford ought to be at the dinner with Lord Phineas.

"Come in?" He called out hesitantly.

The door swung open at once, and through it advanced Mr. Black.

He looked distinctly ruffled, almost jumpy. He strode into the room without ceremony, setting his effects down on a side table and bowing stiffly to Remus, who could not summon the words to express his unpleasant surprise.

Suffice to say, Black was the very last person he wished to see.

"Forgive me. I hope you are feeling better." Black said in clipped tones, and then strode past the spot where Remus lay without waiting for a reply. Black faced the front window, turning his back on Remus entirely.

Remus noted the other gentleman's jaw — clenched and set, a muscle spasming under the not-insubstantial pressure. Remus was sure that he had never seen Black so tense before. He blinked. "I am, thank you."

Black turned to look at Remus, his expression oddly closed and calculating. He seemed to be having some difficulty deciding what to do with his hands, and his fingers flexed in poorly-veiled agitation.

"Will you not sit down?" Remus said hollowly, setting himself properly upright on the chaise and gesturing to an opposing chair.

Remus thought it would be impossible to endure the company of this most awful man with equanimity, and frantically sought a strategy for the management of his current bind. He quickly concluded that it would be best if he spoke as sparingly — and coldly — as possible, so that Black might take his leave.

For his part, Black seemed to be experiencing some sort of psychological crisis. He shifted uncomfortably, briefly taking a seat in the offered chair. He folded his hands and looked at Remus for a few long seconds, before jumping to his feet in agitation.

Remus could only stare at Black with an expression he thought approximated polite confusion, though it could've easily read as bemusement (much closer to what Remus was actually feeling). Black was clearly in the grips of some bizarre fit.

Well, I suppose housing the spirit and essence of the Dark Lord Satan will do that to you. Remus thought with some bitterness. The gall of him to stand here in my presence after what he did to Lily…

Black started pacing, looking as though he were fit to burst.

"Er—"

Black turned to Remus, eyes frighteningly intense and oddly short of breath. "In vain I have struggled — it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed."

"Oh," Remus startled. "Well, um—"

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Remus choked — there was nothing else for it. His whole world had turned on Black's words — his unwelcome, insane, impossible words.

Instinctively, he ducked his head, staring determinedly at his feet. His heart was beating painfully hard, blood rushing in his ears — though whether this was a result of sheer mortification or the simmering anger he'd been contending with ever since his walk with the Colonel was most unclear. His cheeks flooded with colour. This simply couldn't be happening.

He couldn't bring himself to look Black in the eye.

"In declaring myself thus, I am fully aware that I will be going expressly against the wishes of my family, my friends, and I hardly need add, my own better judgment."

Remus' head snapped up at that, his ire overpowering his embarrassment in that moment. Surely Black did not mean to insult him now ?

But indeed it did seem that Black intended to provide a thorough summary of Remus' social inferiority, as he continued his address thusly; "The relative situation of our families is such that any alliance between us must be regarded as a highly reprehensible connection." He huffed. "Indeed, as a rational man, I cannot help but regard it as such myself."

Remus reminded himself that it wouldn't do to punch a Lord's nephew in his best friend's sitting-room. Even though he was speaking ill of Remus' family — of every person he most loved in the world. It wouldn't do. He reminded himself over and over, until he felt his fists unclench.

"But, it cannot be helped." Black concluded grimly, with the air of somebody writing off a bad business investment. He focused on Remus properly now, walking several paces closer. Remus resisted the urge to bodily flinch at the unwelcome proximity.

Black's voice was low, now, and some small measure of softness stole away into his expression — this, more than anything, made sickening dread grow in the pit of Remus' stomach; "Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard, which, despite all my struggles, has overcome every rational objection, and I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my husband."

Remus swallowed the growing lump in his throat, but his voice was still hoarse and thin when he replied; "In such cases as these, I believe the established mode is to express a sense of obligation…" He forced himself to meet Black's eye; "But I cannot."

Black came over strangely frozen — it looked very much to Remus as though he had ceased breathing altogether.

"I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly." Remus could not contain his reproval. "I am sorry to cause pain to anyone, but it was most unconsciously done, and I hope will be of short duration."

Black remained stock-still for a few long moments, and Remus felt as though he could see the thoughts rapidly whirring behind Black's eyes as he processed Remus' prompt rejection. Abruptly, he turned and walked over to a mirror above the mantel — his back to Remus again. When he spoke, however, his tone was icy enough that Remus could imagine his forbidding expression perfectly well;

"And this is all the reply I am to expect?" Black was quiet, but even so, Remus couldn't quash the impulse to flinch. "I might wonder why, with so little effort at civility, I am rejected."

"And I might wonder," Remus heard his own voice shake with the anger he had been repressing since yesterday, "Why, with so evident a desire to offend and insult me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character!"

Black turned to face Remus, expression mildly taken aback, though still sullen and angry.

"Was this not some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?" Remus concluded, automatically tilting his chin up defiantly in the face of Black's oppressive glowering. Having built up steam, he heard himself continue; "I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. Do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who's been the means of ruining the happiness of a most beloved cousin?"

A flicker of something crossed Black's face, but it was quickly lost to the maelstrom of anger and bitterness that had clearly taken root at the very moment of Remus' refusal.

"Can you deny that you have done it?"

Black scoffed, and resumed his restless pacing — not for the first time, Remus was struck by the man's likeness to some predatory animal. "I have no wish to deny it! I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your cousin, and I rejoice in my success." Black stopped, and muttered under his breath; "Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."

Remus laughed — coldly, hollowly. "You will forgive me if I have no regard for your particular brand of kindness . In any case, it is not merely your conduct towards Lily on which my dislike of you is founded. Long before it had taken place my dislike of you was decided when I heard Barty's story of your dealings with him. How can you defend yourself on that subject?"

It took less than a second for Black to transform from sullen and bitter to wildly angry. His eyes flashed dangerously at Remus.

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns." He said it quietly — too quietly. Remus might've been frightened if he wasn't already so furious.

"Who that knows of his misfortunes could help feeling an interest in him?"

"His misfortunes ." Black chuckled darkly. "Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed!"

"And of your infliction!" Remus argued. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, and yet you can treat his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule!"

Black stared hard at Remus, his mouth open disbelievingly.

"And this," he said after a beat, " this is your opinion of me?" Not waiting for a response, he continued. "My faults by this calculation are heavy indeed."

Remus didn't know what caused him to say it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could call them back;

"Barty said you had a type."

Black tensed. "Did he now?"

"Yes." Remus said, steeling himself. "He said I fitted it. Said you'd pursue me." Guess he was right on that score, though I doubt he anticipated a proposal of marriage. "He said you had certain proclivities — that you'd had boys that looked like me in University."

"It was his type!" Black growled, fury seeping from every pore as he recommenced his dizzying pacing. "His proclivities ."

Remus replied coldly, disbelievingly; "If you say so."

"I suppose you think I paid for it, too?" Black demanded, rounding on Remus. "Well? Is that the measure of it? I'm a scoundrel who would steal a living out from under a poor, helpless orphan and has to pay for a fuck?"

"Since you put it that way—"

"I've never even had anybody before!" Black burst, looking momentarily embarrassed, but pressed on; "Not in University nor in any of the years that came after, I— I have not the disposition for casual dalliances."

Remus descended into surprised silence. Even he had a couple of brief experiences under his belt, discreet tussles with stable-hands and boys from the village — hands lingering, moving down, slipping under breeches, stroking, panting, kissing… Most lads had done it, or so Remus had thought. He hadn't ever been underneath anybody, of course. In all honesty, he didn't think he ever wanted to. All descriptions to his mind sounded rather painful, and he thought he might prefer to be the buggerer rather than the buggeree.

Not that he'd ever have the opportunity to figure out his preferences either way — that was an activity for the marriage bed, which, in view of the current circumstances, he'd clearly never make it to.

"You don't believe me." Black stated flatly in the face of Remus' long silence.

"No, I do." Remus said — it clearly pained Black to admit his inexperience.

"But you have ?" Black's tone was far more accusatory than it had any right to be. "You've been with men before?"

Remus flushed angrily. "It is no business of yours."

"If you hadn't, you'd have just said as much." Black surmised, before carrying on; "You must have been discreet, to your credit. I would've heard if you'd been off buggering half the town—"

"Oh honestly, I haven't buggered anybody!" Remus said hotly, feeling very much like he wanted to hit Black. "I'm not some slag— "

"So what was it then?" Black demanded. "A bit of a kiss, a bit of a feel?"

Remus felt the lump from earlier re-forming in his throat; his cheeks hot with humiliation. "I'm not ashamed of it." He said, voice wavering. "It's not unusual, and it didn't go too far. I never jeopardised my reputation or got carried away, not once. Most lads do it — there wasn't any harm ..."

" If you say so ." Black said sardonically, mirroring Remus' earlier words.

Remus felt the prickling of angry tears at the indignity of being attacked in this manner, and only just managed to hold himself together.

"And did you fuck Crouch?" Black then demanded in what Remus chose to view as a fit of unbridled jealousy. " Well? Did you?"

Affronted, Remus replied; "Are you out of your wits? No! " Catching Black's answering dubious eye-roll, he added; "For heaven's sake, of course I didn't! He never even asked me, and I wouldn't have said yes if he had."

For a moment Black almost seemed to relax — Remus' assurance that he hadn't touched Barty a soothing balm to his ragged nerves. Then, it seemed, he remembered the wider context of their discussion — and the rejection of his marriage proposal.

"You are singularly insensible!" Black burst, glaring at Remus accusatory. "To reject my offer — do you have any idea of your own station in life? Do you actually think you can do better than me?"

Remus closed his eyes and prayed for strength. "I beg you to stop, you have insulted me by every possible method—"

"You are a fool." Black said coldly, his barrage of criticism unrelenting; "—Not to mention presumptuous, and common, and judgemental, and—"

" —Please —"

"—Perhaps your answer would have been different," Black said icily, "had your pride not been hurt by the honest confession of the scruples which had long prevented my forming any serious design on you."

Remus gaped openly at Black — how could the man have so little sense of his own cruelty and impropriety? How could he have ever imagined that Remus would accept him in the first instance?

"Might you have said yes if I had concealed my struggles and flattered you? Forgive me, Lupin, but I cannot do it. Not even for you. Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence." Said Black. "Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related — they were natural and just. But did you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?"

Remus stood abruptly, turning his back from Black and his seemingly unending vitriol. He wished he could block out Black's words altogether — the unrelenting avalanche of insults and slights was designed to demean him, he knew, to humiliate him.

Remus only wished that knowing as much had meant that it wouldn't work. But alas, Black's words cut and stung just as they were intended to.

"—To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly below my own?"

It was the final straw.

Shaking, Remus forced himself to face Black; "You are mistaken, Sir. The mode of your declaration merely spared me any concern I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

"I—"

"And even if I could set aside the slight to my character occasioned by your accusations that I defile myself with out-of-wedlock sodomy , and chalk it all up to being the honest mistake of a dispositionally bitter, miserable virgin —" Remus' voice shook, heavy with emotion, "—I would still know in my heart that you could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."

Black had, at last, descended into silence. His rejection seemed, at last, to be felt — he had ceased his pacing, and he seemed to deflate under the weight of Remus' cold glare.

"From the very beginning, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I had not known you a month before I felt you were the last man in the world whom I could ever marry."

Ringing silence followed —Remus could only hear his own heavy breathing. Black stood before him, stock-still and shocked, and Remus knew he had, at last, reached his limit.

"You have said quite enough, Lupin." Black said stiffly. "I perfectly comprehend your feelings. And now have only to be ashamed of what my own have been." Black seemed to be rapidly recovering himself, striding to the door even as he spoke. "I fear I have trespassed too long on your privacy. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

Black slammed the drawing-room door, and a vase on the far side of the room fell from a side-table and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

As much as Remus would like to say it was otherwise, the truth of the matter was thus — the very instant that Black disappeared from view, Remus burst into furious, exhausted tears. Uncontrolled sobs wracked his body as he struggled to keep up with the last few moments — which might've been the very worst of his life, excepting for the deaths of his excellent parents.

Breathing raggedly, Remus attempted to marshall his emotions, and crossed the room to where the remnants of the vase now lay. Shattered beyond repair.

Suffice to say, Remus felt that he could relate.

* * *

**A/N:** _Sirius Black's Foolproof Guide to Getting Cute Boys to Like You_: Insult them and their peasant status, ask for their hand in marriage, get angry at their sensible rejection of your dickhead tactics and accuse them of being a slag, and voila! Inarguably positive results, every time.

This is a momentous occasion. I've had a great deal of this chapter written before I even wrote chapter one - I'm SO excited to finally be able to post it.

Thank you all for the comments and the love 3


	16. Yours, Sirius Orion Black

Remus awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had so exhaustively plagued his sleeping hours. He had not yet recovered from the surprise of Black's proposal and their resulting argument — indeed, he found it nigh impossible to think of anything else.

Finding himself totally indisposed to be in the company of others, Remus resolved, soon after breakfast, to indulge himself in fresh air, and exercise, and solitude.

Remus trekked up a hill on the furthest boundary-line from Grimmauld, as he was eager to avoid any unexpected company. The sun had not yet fully warmed up, and an evening dew still clung to the grass. Remus breathed deep the scent of wet greenery and loamy earth, and felt some small measure of peace. Reaching the top, he turned around to see if anybody was in view.

Finding himself quite alone, he broke into a run.

He pumped his legs until his muscles ached, and the cold morning air stung in his throat and lungs. Gasping, and, for the first time in over a day, grinning, Remus eventually slowed his pace to a walk.

The brief-yet-profound relief from his emotional tumult that the activity provided was most welcome — the exercise was, however, a most inconvenient distraction from his wider surrounds.

For this reason, Remus did not notice Mr. Black until he was almost upon him. The gentleman stood in his riding gear, scanning the grove for somebody — him , most probably — and Remus was about to sneak away from the scene when his foot came down on a twig, which snapped.

Black spun abruptly, grey eyes widening in surprise at Remus' sudden appearance.

He approached before Remus had gathered himself enough to make any escape attempt. "Mr. Lupin." He said, with a look of haughty composure. "I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading this?"

Black held out a letter, which Remus instinctively took. And then, with a slight bow, he turned again, and was soon out of sight.

With the strongest curiosity, Remus opened the letter, and, to his increasing wonder, found it contained two sheets of letter-paper, written double-sided, and in a very close hand. It was dated from Grimmauld, at eight o'clock that very morning, and read as follows:—

**Dear Mr. Lupin, **

**Be not alarmed on receiving this letter that it may contain any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of upsetting you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten. **

**Indeed, the bequeathal of this letter might have been foregone altogether, had my honour and good name not been called into question by your accusations last night. **

**Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means equal magnitude, were laid to my charge last night. The first, that — regardless of the sentiments of either party — I had detached Mr. Potter from your cousin, and the other, that I had unfairly obliterated the future prospects of one Barty Crouch Jr. **

**I shall hope, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read and fully understood, that you will revise the severity of the blame which you have previously so liberally bestowed upon me. **

**If, in light of my explanation, you still find that I relate feelings which are offensive to you, I can only say that I am sorry to hear it — but I must be true to myself, and find the notion of offering any further apology with regards to either matter quite absurd.**

**I had not long been in Godric's Hollow before I saw that my friend delighted in the company of your cousin, Miss Lily Evans. I had little apprehension of his forming a serious attachment — I have seen James in love often enough over the years to weather his frequent crushes with equanimity. Even so, I resolved to observe his behaviour as their acquaintance grew more intimate; and discovered partiality for Miss Evans to be beyond anything I had ever before witnessed. **

**Your cousin I also watched. And though her manners were open, cheerful, and engaging, I recognised no symptom of any peculiar regard. I concluded that, though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them with any great measure of enthusiasm. The serenity of her countenance would lead even the most acute observer to the conclusion that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction. **

**I do concede that — if you yourself have not been mistaken as to the inner workings of your cousin's heart — I may have been in error with regards to this conclusion. I am willing to defer to your superior knowledge of Miss Evans, and if I have indeed been misled by such error to inflict pain on her, I can only conclude that your resentment of me has not been unreasonable. **

**However, it is worth noting that my objections to any potential association between James and Miss Evans are not merely those which I last night acknowledged. There were other causes of repugnance; causes which I had myself endeavored to forget, because I had feelings for you, and because they were not immediately before me at Grimmauld as they were in Godric's Hollow. These concerns must be stated, though briefly;**

**The situation of your Aunt's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to the total want of propriety so frequently and almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger cousins, and occasionally even by your Uncle. It pains me to offend you, but let it give you consolation to consider that both you and Miss Evans have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of such censure. On this subject I will only vouch to say that I acted to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most reprehensible connection. **

**As you well know, James left Peverell for London in early December. Miss McKinnon's uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered, and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching James from Miss Evans, we shortly resolved on joining him in London directly. We accordingly went—and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such his plans to make an offer to your cousin. **

**I do not suppose that the expression of my misgivings would ultimately have prevented James, had it not been seconded by my assurance of Miss Evans' indifference to him. He had before believed that she reciprocated his affections with sincere, if not equal, regard. **

**But James has a great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning into Godric's Hollow once that conviction had been given was scarcely the work of a moment. I confess, I cannot blame myself for having done as much. **

**There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction. That being; that I concealed from him Miss Evans' being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss McKinnon, but James remains ignorant of it to this day. Perhaps this concealment was beneath me; it is done, however, and it was done for the best. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. **

**With respect to the other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Barty Crouch Jr., I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family.**

**Barty is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates. My father — Mr. Orion Black — supported him at school, and afterward at Cambridge. My father was fond of Barty's society — his manners were always engaging, even in childhood — and he had the highest opinion of the lad. My father had hoped that the church would be his profession, and intended to provide an appropriate living in line with this thought. **

**It must be said that my father, for all of his good intentions, was rather a severe man — his expectations of myself, and, to a lesser extent, of my younger brother Regulus, were almost astronomically high. It pains me to admit it, but though I admired him, I always struggled to enjoy his society. He never showed me much affection, even when I was a boy. His severity, however, was always dimmed and softened in the presence of Barty, and their relationship soon adopted a dynamic akin to a favourite nephew and a doting Uncle. Barty was subjected to none of the pressures of being son and heir, and it was evident that my father greatly enjoyed spoiling Barty. Perhaps it was agreeable to him to spend time with a child in whom he did not see his own obsolescence and death — my father always impressed upon me his certainty that I would somehow fail to adequately contribute to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black after he had died. In any case, Barty quickly grew irresolute in his habits under my father's regime of blind indulgence. Tales of excessive drinking and wild behavior at the local inns reached our ears at Pemberley with increasing frequency. My father, however, was determined to dismiss any such tale as little more than natural, youthful spiritedness — to his mind, Barty was everything a young man ought to be, and he would not hear a word against him. He maintained his belief in Barty's innocence until the very last. It is worth noting that Regulus, who was at that time very young, was also disposed to think well of Barty. Whenever he visited, Barty took the trouble of devoting himself exclusively and tirelessly to Regulus' amusement. **

**As for myself, it was not long into our peerage at Cambridge that I began to think of Barty in a very different manner. His more vicious propensities — his total want of principle, the drinking, the adultery, the gambling… They grew ever more severe once he was removed from my father's direct society, where even the most atrocious conduct might be concealed with ease. He could not, however, escape the observation of a young man nearly the same age as himself, who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments. **

**He seduced a number of young men while at Cambridge — all being fine-featured, and in possession of light and pleasing figures. His tastes, in this regard, were not varied, and I viewed his amoral conduct with abhorrence. I quickly learnt to regard Barty as a lost cause, and any bonds of friendship lingering between us were soon dissolved. I had formed more favourable associations; James, as well as Miss McKinnon and Miss Meadowes, and was eager to relegate Barty to the role of disappointing childhood spectre. For the first time in my life, I had the luxury of honourable friends. **

**Barty and I contented ourselves with the appearance of civility — whenever we were jointly in the presence of my father, at least — and proceeded in this manner until about five years ago, when my father died unexpectedly. His attachment to Barty was, to the last, so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds, which he was immediately granted. **

**Within half-a-year of these events, Barty wrote to inform me that he had resolved against taking orders, and hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the living. He had some intention, he added, of studying law. I wished rather than believed him to be sincere. But, at any rate, I was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. Suffice to say, I did not think Barty at all suited to the clergy. **

**The business was therefore soon settled—he resigned all claim to assistance in the church, and accepted in return a sum of three thousand pounds, on top of the one thousand he had already received upon my father's death. All connections between us seemed now dissolved. Being now free from all restraint, his life was one of idleness and dissipation. **

**For about three years I heard little of him; until he applied to me again by letter. His circumstances, he assured me — and I had no difficulty in believing it — were exceedingly bad. He found the law a most unprofitable study and was now absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present to him the living he had originally been promised. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. **

**I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself. I can only ask the utmost discretion of you with regards to what follows, as it concerns my brother Regulus, who is more than ten years my junior. **

**Following the death of my father, Regulus was left to the guardianship of Colonel Longbottom and myself. About a year ago, he was taken from school to Ramsgate; and thither also went Barty, undoubtedly by design — for there proved to be a prior acquaintance between him and one Mrs. Winky, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived. By her connivance and aid, Barty had managed to recommend himself to Regulus, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to him as a child. He was persuaded to believe himself in love, and to consent to an elopement. He was then but fifteen. **

**Thankfully, I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement, and then Regulus, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom he almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole plan to me at once. **

**You may imagine what I felt, and how I acted. Barty left the place immediately, and Mrs. Winky was, of course, removed from her charge. Barty's chief object was, unquestionably, my brother's fortune of thirty-thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me proved to be a strong secondary motive. **

**I solemnly swear this to be a faithful narrative of my every dealing with Barty Crouch Jr; for its veracity I can appeal to the testimony of Colonel Longbottom, who, as the executor of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. You will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Barty. **

**I know not in what manner and under what form of falsehood Barty imposed himself on you, but his success is, perhaps, not to be wondered at. Barty has always been very skilled at hoodwinking the unsuspecting, and you certainly had no prior cause for suspicion. I can only unequivocally caution you to avoid any sort of romantic entanglement with Barty in future — I say this not as a jealous suitor, but as someone possessing a genuine regard and concern for both your safety and your reputation. I remember enough of Cambridge to assure you that you would be used and discarded within a month of giving in to him, at most. Remus, if you believe only a single thing that I write then believe this — you deserve better than Barty Crouch Jr. **

**To the above I will add only the following — that my genuine best wishes for your future happiness and prosperity still, and will always, apply. The business between us has concluded most unhappily, but even so, I find that I cannot reprove myself for admiring you. I regret the words I spoke in anger yesterday, and wish to assure you of the warmth and constancy of my good opinion. **

**In the interests of your comfort, however, I will vow to do my utmost to forget you — please forgive me the not-insubstantial amount of time this may take. **

**Yours, **

**Sirius Orion Black **

Remus read the letter, and then read it again.

Remus perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Barty and himself during their first evening at Mr. Lovegood's, but it was only now that he was struck with the impropriety of Barty's communications, and wondered how it had escaped his notice before. He saw the indelicacy of Barty airing his grievances as he had done, and the inconsistency of his actions with his words.

He remembered how Barty had boasted of having no fear of seeing Black — yet he had avoided the ball at Peverell the very next week. Remus realised that Barty had told the story of his many misfortunes to nobody but Remus until after Black and Potter had quit the country. He realised how, after their removal from society, that the business had been everywhere discussed; that Barty had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Black's character, though he had previously assured Remus that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

How differently did everything now appear! His attentions to Miss King seemed now solely and hatefully mercenary, and his behaviour to Remus could have had no tolerable motive. Barty had either been deceived with regards to Remus' fortune (which was so desperately unlikely that Remus thought he might actually cry at the inevitable conclusion that then followed), or had been gratifying his vanity by encouraging Remus, and attempting to bed and abandon him without ceremony. Barty had professed alarmingly often, after all, a desire to have Remus, and Remus had been stupid enough to receive these attentions with pleasure. He had been so exceedingly diverted by Barty's manners that he had misjudged the man entirely.

Suffice to say, Remus felt a fool.

Remus remembered that Potter, when questioned by Lily, had long ago asserted Black's blamelessness in the affair. And Remus was forced to admit that, proud and repulsive as were his manners, he had never, in the whole course of their acquaintance, seen anything that betrayed Black to be unprincipled or unjust—anything that spoke of irreligious or immoral habits. Among his own connections, Black was esteemed and valued, and even Barty had allowed him merit as a brother. Indeed, Remus had heard Black speak affectionately of his brother so often as to prove him capable of generous and genuine love .

Remus grew absolutely ashamed of himself. He could think of neither Black nor Barty without feeling that he had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd.

How despicably I have acted! He thought. Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! Pleased with the appearance of one, and offended by the neglect of the other… From the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away.

Never one for excessive self-flagellation, Remus' thoughts soon brought to his recollection that Black's explanation with regards to Lily and Potter had appeared very insufficient, and he read these passages again.

Alas, a second perusal did not bring the vindication Remus sought. Black declared himself to be totally unsuspicious of Lily's attachment, and Remus could not help remembering what Emmeline's opinion of the matter had always been. Nor could Remus deny the accuracy of Black's description of Lily. Remus was forced to admit that Lily's feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner not often associated with any deeper sentiment.

When Remus came to that part of the letter in which his family was mentioned — in terms of such mortifying yet merited reproach, no less — his sense of shame grew most severe. The justice of the charge struck him too forcibly for denial. His family was a source of ridicule and embarrassment, and had materially damaged both Remus and Lily's marriage prospects.

The compliment Black paid to himself and to Lily was not unfelt. It soothed, but it could not wholly console him. When he considered that Lily's heartbreak had in fact been the work of their nearest and most loved relations, Remus felt depressed beyond anything he had ever known before.

After wandering the grove for two hours—re-considering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling himself, as well as he could, to a change so sudden and so important—fatigue, and a recollection of his long absence from Hunsford, made Remus return home at last.

He entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful, but was immediately told by Emmeline that the two gentlemen from Grimmauld had each called during his absence; Mr. Black, only for a few minutes, to take leave—and Colonel Longbottom, who had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for Remus' return, and had almost resolved to walk after him till he could be found. Remus made a reasonable attempt at pretending to be put-out at having missed the Colonel, but really he was glad to have avoided the distraction of his society.

Remus could think only of his letter, and the sudden way in which his feelings toward Black had entered into flux.

* * *

Dinner at Grimmauld the following night was strange indeed, for Remus at least.

He could not see Lord Phineas without recollecting that, had he chosen it, he might by this time have been presented to his Lordship as his future nephew by marriage; nor could he think, without a smile, of what his Lordship's indignation would have been at such a pronouncement.

At fortune would have it, Lord Phineas was preoccupied with bemoaning the loss of his nephew and required little from Remus in terms of conversation.

"I assure you, I feel it exceedingly," said he. "I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do. And I am so particularly attached to these young men, and know them to be so much attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last, but young Sirius seemed to feel it most acutely. More, I think, than last year. His attachment to Grimmauld certainly increases."

Remus did not miss the way that Lord Phineas eyed Miss Bellatrix at that. Remus rather thought he was fighting a losing battle in attempting to arrange a match between Black and Miss Bellatrix, but his Lordship seemed determined to try.

Lord Phineas observed, after dinner, that Remus seemed out of spirits, too, and immediately accounting for it by himself, supposing that Remus did not wish to go home again so soon, saying; "But if that is the case, you must write to your Aunt and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Pettigrew will be very glad of your company, I am sure."

"I am much obliged to your Lordship for your kind invitation," replied Remus, "but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday."

"Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks! I expected you to stay for two months. I told Mrs. Pettigrew so before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Evans could certainly spare you for another fortnight."

"But Mr. Evans cannot. He wrote last week to hurry my return."

"Pah! Your Uncle may spare you if your Aunt can. And if you will stay another month complete, it will be in my power to take one of you as far as London myself, for I am going there early in June."

"You are all kindness, your Lordship, but I believe we must abide by our original plan."

Lord Phineas seemed resigned. "Where shall you change horses?" He immediately answered his own question; "Oh! Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Bell, you will be attended to."

Lord Phineas had many other questions to ask respecting their journey, and as he could not answer them all himself, Remus' attention was necessary. The night passed sluggishly, and when Remus, at last, departed he was more than eager for the quiet and solitude of his bed at Hunsford.

* * *

Remus believed he was in a fair way of soon knowing Black's letter by heart.

He studied every sentence, and his feelings towards its writer were at times widely different.

The greatest lingering source of vexation and regret was the brief account that Black provided of the many unhappy defects of his family. The more he ruminated on it, the more despondent he felt. They were hopeless of remedy. His Uncle, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and his Aunt, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Remus had frequently united with Lily in an endeavor to check the imprudence of Kitty and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother's indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement?

Kitty, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia's guidance, had been always affronted by their advice; and Lydia, strong-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in the Hollow, they would flirt with him; and while the Hollow was within an easy distance of Longbourn, they would be going there forever.

Anxiety on Lily's behalf was another prevailing concern, and Black's explanation heightened the sense of what Lily had lost. Potter's affection was proved to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame (excepting for the blindness with which he accepted the judgments of his esteemed friend over his own perfectly sensible instincts). How grievous then was the thought that, of a situation so desirable in every respect, so replete with advantage, so promising for happiness, Lily had been deprived solely by the folly and indecorum of her own family!

When he remembered the rude manner of Black's proposal, he was still full of indignation; but when he considered how unjustly he had condemned him, Remus' anger was turned against himself; and Black's disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. Black's attachment excited gratitude, his general character respect; but Remus could not wholly approve of him; nor could he regret having refused Black's hand in marriage, or feel the slightest inclination to ever see him again.

* * *

Their engagements at Grimmauld were as frequent during the last week of his stay as they had been at first.

The very last evening was spent there; and his Lordship again inquired minutely into the particulars of their journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing, and was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right way, that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the work of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.

When they parted, Lord Phineas, with great condescension, wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year; and Miss Bellatrix exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand.

"Good gracious!" cried Maria, after a few minutes' silence, "it seems but a day or two since we first came! and yet how many things have happened!"

"A great many indeed," said Remus with a sigh. "Though I confess I felt our visit was quite unending. I should be glad to go home."

Maria continued excitedly; "We have dined nine times at Grimmauld, besides drinking tea there twice! How much I shall have to tell!"

And how much I shall have to conceal! Remus thought.

Their journey passed without much conversation; and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached the Weasley's residence in London, where they were to remain a few days.

Lily looked well, but Remus had little opportunity of studying her spirits amidst the various engagements which his Aunt Molly had arranged for them.

But Remus' impatience to acquaint Lily with what had happened could no longer be overcome; and at length, resolving to withhold every particular in which his cousin and Mr. Potter were concerned, Remus related to her what had transpired between Black and himself.

Lily's astonishment at discovering that Remus was the object of Black's affections was soon lessened by the strong familial partiality which made any admiration of Remus appear perfectly natural — "Well of course he loves you, Remus. Why wouldn't he?" — and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings.

Lily was sorry that Black should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so little suited to recommend them, but still, more was she grieved for the unhappiness which Remus' refusal must have given him.

"His being so sure of succeeding was wrong," said Lily, "but consider how much it must increase his disappointment!"

"Indeed," said Remus dryly, "I am heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings which will soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me for refusing him?"

"Blame you! Oh, no."

He then spoke of the letter, saying nothing of Black's interference with her's and Potter's budding romance, but repeating the whole of its contents as far as they concerned Barty Crouch Jr. What a stroke was this for poor Lily! She, who would willingly have gone through the world without believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind as was here collected in one individual. Nor was Black's vindication capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly did Lily labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear one of wrong-doings without somehow implicating the other.

"This will not do," said Remus, "you will never be able to them both good. There is just enough merit between them to make one good sort of man; and for my part, I am inclined to believe it all Mr. Black."

"I do not know when I have ever been more shocked," said Lily. "It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Black! Dear Remus, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! And with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too! And having to relate such a thing of his brother! It is really too distressing. I am sure you must feel it so."

"Oh! No, my regret and compassion are all done away by seeing you so full of both." Remus could not help but smile. "I know you will do him such ample justice, that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. If you lament over him much longer, my heart will be as light as a feather."

"Don't tease me, Remus." Lily said, before fretting once more; "Oh, but poor Barty — there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance. Such openness and gentleness in his manner."

"Aye." Remus sighed. "One has all the goodness, and the other all the appearance of it."

"I never thought Mr. Black so deficient in the appearance of it as you used to."

Remus conceded that this was a fair point. Lily had never been unjust towards Black — though, in view of the circumstances, she was perhaps the only person with any real right to, not that she was at all aware of why .

"Remus," Lily placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her tone soothing. "When you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as lightly as you do now."

"Indeed, I could not." Remus sighed. "I was miserable enough, and with no one to speak to about what I felt. No Lily to comfort me and assure me that I had not been as weak and vain and nonsensical as I know I have been. No, I confess it has all been rather awful." He thought a moment. "But enough of that. There is one point on which I want your advice — ought those in our general acquaintance be made aware of Barty's true character?"

Lily paused a moment, and then replied fretfully; "Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully."

"Perhaps it ought not to be attempted." Remus agreed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Besides, Black has not authorised me to make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relating to his brother is meant to be kept to myself as much as possible."

"Quite right." Lily nodded. "In any case, to have his errors made public might ruin Barty forever — he is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish his character in the world. We must not make him desperate."

Remus could only laugh at Lily's resolute goodness.

The tumult of his mind had been allayed by their conversation — he had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on him for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Lily, whenever he might wish to talk again of either.


	17. The Regiment Leaves Godric's Hollow

Lydia and Kitty met up with Remus and Lily after London. They had screeched in all a state, waving and jumping from their carriage, to draw Remus and Lily's gaze when they changed at Bromley.

Weary from their travels, Remus and Lily could not admonish the silly pair with as much energy as usual. They consented to dinner at the local inn, and endured their company with the hopes of falling into their beds post-haste.

"Now I have got some news for you," said Lydia, as they sat down at the table. "What do you think? It is excellent news—capital news—and about a certain person we all like!"

Lily and Remus shared a significant look. Ignorant of this, Lydia laughed and said: "It is about dear Barty! There is no danger of his marrying Miss King — She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool: gone to stay. Barty is safe."

"More like Miss King is safe," replied Remus. "Safe from a connection imprudent as to fortune."

"Oh, nobody cares about that sort of thing these days." Lydia scoffed. "She is a great fool for going away if she liked him, if you ask me."

"I hope there was no strong attachment on either side," Lily fretted, and Remus regarded her with astonishment that she could still worry about Barty now that she knew his true character.

"I am sure there is not on his side. I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her—who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"

* * *

Sirius languished in the parlour at James' London house, his clothes rumpled and his mood dark.

"Am I a bad person?"

James, who was observing his friend with no small measure of concern, straightened up at once.

"Of course not." James said. "Sirius, what on earth happened at Grimmauld? You haven't been yourself since you returned."

Sirius huffed, and dragged a hand through his raven hair. He deliberated, and at length he spoke, keeping his voice deceptively light; "I met Lupin in my travels, did I tell you that?"

James blinked. "No, you didn't."

"I asked him to marry me."

It spoke to the true success of Sirius' performance of indifference towards Lupin that even James, who thought very well of the man, could only respond with astonished silence.

Recovering himself, James shuffled uncomfortably. "And he—"

"Declined." Sirius answered in a clipped voice. "Most vehemently."

James winced. "Well, maybe—"

"He said I was conceited and proud… ungentlemanlike." Sirius thought it might be better to summarise the whole unhappy business quickly, like ripping gauze from a wound. "He said he would not consent to marry me if I was the last man on earth, and—" he faltered, the dull ache in his chest growing more acute as he forced the words out "—and that I was—erm, an arrogant, bitter, miserable v—virgin." He swallowed, having forced the words out, and concluded thickly; "Among other things."

"Oh, Sirius…" James sighed, and placed a comforting hand on his leg. "I'm sorry. I know you liked him."

"Very much." Sirius screwed his eyes shut, shame burning in his gullet at the thought that he might cry over Lupin like some sort of hysterical girl. "I love him. Still."

"I know, Pads." James said softly, rubbing comforting circles into Sirius' back. "I know."

"This is loathsome," Sirius felt the hot prickling of tears in his eyes in earnest now, as every miserable thought he'd had since Grimmauld finally came tumbling out. "I wish I cared not for him... that things might go back to the way they were before."

"I don't." James said simply. "Sirius, coming to love another is never bad, even— even when it doesn't go our way."

Dimly, Sirius registered that James might not just be talking about him and Lupin.

"How do you figure?" Sirius pressed. "What part of this could possibly lead to goodness? I have been rejected, scorned, humiliated— "

"Such experiences can make us better men." James answered plainly. "But only if we let them." He pondered a moment, then added; "And I doubt it was Lupin's intention to humiliate you. He is not that sort of fellow, to ridicule without occasion."

"Indeed he is not." Sirius let his head drop back against a cushion, and massaged his temples wearily. "Alas, I fear he had occasion. His actions make perfect sense, you see, in light of his understanding of my own character."

"He was not afforded the opportunity to know you as the rest of us do." James reasoned. "You did not let him."

With a sigh, Sirius conceded this point. "I did not." He mulled over James' words for a moment. "Remus was right about me, I know he was." Sirius then admitted. "About my… arrogance, and pride."

James looked somewhat disquieted by this proclamation, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, nobody is perfect, after all. And you really are much better when you have the advantage of picking your society — nobody at Pemberley would ever believe you arrogant."

"A weak excuse." Sirius scoffed, "it only proves I know perfectly well how to behave, and yet make no effort to do so when I deem the company beneath me — complacency and hubris of the worst kind."

"I'm sure it's not quite—"

"I thought myself better than all the Hollow, James." Sirius said flatly. "Do not pretend that you would ever contrive to think that way yourself, on the basis of status or money."

"Well, no." James admitted. "But you have realised now, haven't you? Seen the error of your ways? So really, this is a good thing!"

Sirius only became more miserable in the face of James' feeble optimism; "Remus will never return my love."

To this James had no reply, no false comfort or weak assurance. He only patted Sirius on the shoulder again, and looked solemn.

"I accused him of sleeping with Crouch." Sirius admitted. "And… a number of other people. 'Half the Hollow' , specifically."

"Oh, Sirius…"

"I know, I know!" Sirius waved off James' condemnation. "Does it at all matter that I am hideously sorry about it? That I know how wrong and crude it was to address him so?"

"A little." James said. "A very little."

Sirius sighed heavily. "I have lost him forever."

"Probably." James said, a note of pity creeping back into his voice. "But you may have the opportunity of throwing yourself at his feet and begging his forgiveness at some point in the future. What a sight that will be! You must ensure that I do not miss it — it would be so very funny to see you grovel, like watching a dog walk on its hind-legs."

"With friends such as you, one could do without enemies." Sirius muttered peevishly. "I am in pain, James. I thought you were sorry for me."

"I find that I am less sorry the more I hear of the matter."

Sirius huffed and glowered half-heartedly at his friend, who was unmoved.

"I will do better." Sirius then said, finding some small kernel of resolve amidst his despair. "Regardless of the hopelessness of the situation, I think I must allow Lupin's honesty and frankness to leave their rightful mark on me."

"I think so." James agreed. "And who knows? Maybe he will even change his mind someday, if you see each other again and he finds you so reformed. And has a concussion. And has gone blind and mistakes you for somebody more agreeable."

Sirius laughed unwillingly, before turning somber once more; "I doubt it. All acquaintance between us is now dissolved — I cannot imagine where I would happen across him." It ached to think that he might never see Remus' face again, but he pushed past the feeling. "But it matters not. His good opinion is not the object. I only wish to improve myself — to honour the indelible mark he has left on my soul. He has changed me, James — heart and mind."

"I can see that, what with all this talk of hearts and souls — it is most unlike you." James said, adding; "I am sorry to find you so sad."

"It is only what I deserve." Sirius said. "Please, do not trouble yourself fretting over me. Pray, go bother Marlene instead."

"She has been out of spirits too, ever since Dorcas left for Somerset." James mused. "I must say, this is a rather gloomy house at present!"

* * *

The first week of Lily and Remus' return to Longbourn was soon gone.

Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs Evans rejoiced to see Lily in undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Evans say voluntarily to Remus: "I am glad you have come back, my boy." And Remus was given to the impression that his Uncle had not fared well in the absence of sensible company.

As the second began, a great commotion stole over the Evans household. It was the last of the regiment's stay in the Hollow, and all the youths in the neighbourhood were miserable.

The dejection was almost universal. It seemed that Lily and Remus alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.

"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?" They would often exclaim in bitterness and woe. "How can you be smiling so, Remus?"

Mrs Evans shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five-and-twenty years ago; "I am sure," said she, "I cried for two days together when Colonel Miller's regiment went away. I thought I should have broken my heart."

"I am sure I shall break mine ," said Lydia.

"If only we could all go to Brighton!" said Mrs Evans.

"Oh, yes! There would be balls—we could go sea-bathing!"

"A little sea-bathing would set me up forever."

"And I am sure it would do me a great deal of good," added Kitty.

"And yet I am unmoved." Said Mr. Evans, flatly.

Such lamentations and quarrels resounding perpetually throughout Longbourn. Remus tried to be amused by them, but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. He felt anew the justice of Black's criticisms; and never had he been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the matter of Lily and Mr. Potter.

At least , he thought, the Regiment would soon be gone . Remus thought the family could do very well without that particular source of embarrassment.

Alas, both the gloom of Lydia's prospects and the accompanying silver lining of Remus' were shortly cleared away - for Lydia received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their three months' acquaintance they had been intimate two.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Evans, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone's congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repined at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia," said she, "Though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."

In vain did Remus attempt to make her reasonable, and Lily to make her resigned.

As for Remus himself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in his Aunt and Lydia, that he considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make him were it known, he could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go.

Remus represented to Mr. Evans all the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home.

Mr. Evans heard Remus attentively, and then said: "Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances."

"If you were aware," argued Remus, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner—which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently."

"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Evans. "What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor Remus! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret." He smiled widely. "Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly."

"Indeed you are mistaken." Remus said stiffly. "I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general evils... Our importance, our respectability in the world must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear Uncle, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself or her family ridiculous."

"Now, Remus…"

"In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! My dear Uncle, can you not see that they will be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that all their nearest relations will be involved in the disgrace?"

Mr. Evans saw that Remus' whole heart was in the subject, and affectionately taking his hand said in reply: "Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear nephew. Wherever you and Lily are known you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of—or I may say, three—very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to lock her up for the rest of her life."

With this answer Remus was forced to be silent on the matter; but his own opinion continued the same, and he left the study disappointed and sorry. It was not in Remus' nature, however, to increase his vexations by dwelling on them. He was confident of having performed his duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of his disposition.

On your head be it, he thought as he surveyed his Uncle just before dinner that night. Whatever misfortune comes, don't say I didn't warn you .

* * *

Unhappily, Remus could not avoid seeing Barty before his regiment departed, now that Lydia was to join the party in Brighton.

He came by Longbourn, as handsome and smooth as ever, and Remus consented to take a turn around the garden with him. Dimly, Remus felt Lydia's eyes boring into the back of his head in jealousy, and knew that he would be reprimanded for keeping Barty to himself later on.

"I hear that you ran afoul of Black at Grimmauld Place." Barty ventured, and Remus smiled politely in response.

"I wouldn't say I ran afoul , but it is true that I saw him there, yes."

There was a pause, and then Barty asked; "How long did you say he was there?"

"Nearly three weeks."

"And you saw him frequently?"

"Yes, almost every day."

"I always marvelled at how Black's manners are so very different from his cousin's — the Colonel."

"Yes, very different." Remus agreed. "Colonel Longbottom is very amiable. But I think Mr. Black improves upon acquaintance."

Barty looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection and a returning smile, and cried; "Indeed!" with a look which did not escape Remus, "And pray, may I ask—" But checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style?—for I dare not hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that he is improved in essentials."

"Oh, no," said Remus warmly, "in essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was."

While he spoke, Barty looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over his words, or to distrust their meaning.

There was a something in his countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while Remus added: "When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement, but that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood."

Barty's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to Remus again, and said in the gentlest of accents: "You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Black, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you have been alluding is merely adopted on his visits to his Lord Uncle, of whose good opinion and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of Lord Phineas has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss Bellatrix, which I am certain he has very much at heart."

Remus could not repress a smile at this, but answered only by a slight inclination of the head. He saw that Barty wanted to engage him on the old subject of his grievances, and he was in no humour to indulge him.

The rest of the evening passed with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to single out Remus; and they parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.

**A/N:** The Sirius portion of this chapter was written while listening to "Hopelessly Devoted To You" on repeat for about an hour and a half, and I think it probably shows.

I am speeding through the Sirius-and-Remus-being-apart content as quickly as possible! It was lovely to write some Sirius POV stuff though, I feel a lot more freedom to play with those bits for obvious reasons (less risk of damaging the pristine genius of the original P&P plot).


	18. Pemberley and its Pleasing Attributes

The beginning of July saw the arrival of Mr and Mrs Weasley at Longbourn — they had made good on their promise to bring Remus with them on a tour of the countryside.

Mrs Weasley's stomach bore the telltale swell of another pregnancy, and the whole family toasted to the arrival of another little Weasley in several month's time. It was, Mrs Weasley assured Remus, perfectly safe for her to travel, provided that Remus and Arthur were happy to take some of the more challenging walks without her.

Remus was privately thrilled to be leaving — Lydia's departure to Brighton (and the corresponding absence of the usual spectacles and crises which her presence inevitably excited) had left Mrs. Evans with many long hours of unexpected peace, which she primary spent bemoaning the sorry state of Lily's romantic prospects — a sore point for all involved, considering that they had only recently appeared to be to such great advantage.

"Oh, but it is not poor Lily's fault," Mrs. Evans said to Mr. Lovegood earnestly — and loudly — one evening as they attended Vance Lodge for dinner and cards, "she did everything she could to secure Potter."

"Oh, nobody would blame poor Lily," said Lovegood, "I, for one, always thought that Potter fellow rather ill-favoured."

"Yes, indeed!" Mrs Evans cried. "That is just what I think! And I told the girls — Lord knows, I told the girls time and time again, till I was blue in the face — but did anybody listen to me?"

Lovegood shook his head sadly. "It is not your fault, Madam."

"I think—" Mrs Weasley had started, before being rudely cut off.

"I have always been such a keen judge of character," Mrs Evans said, "such a pity that my children would not heed the wisdom of an old maid like me."

"I had thought Potter a good sort." Mrs Weasley argued, frowning at her sister. "Remus spoke highly of him on our last visit."

"Remus was as hoodwinked as anybody," Mrs Evans waved her hand dismissively, "...and I would hardly trust _his_ judgement, after her rejected poor Pettigrew and ruined us all."

Yes, Remus found that he could scarcely wait to leave Longbourn.

Blessedly, the day of the party's departure came quickly. The weather was fine for travel — sun shining, roads dry and clear, winds soft and cool — and the Weasleys had arranged to leave their children — Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins — in the care of Lily and Kitty.

"I shall miss you very dearly, cousin." Remus said to Lily, hugging her tightly as the manservant loaded his and the Weasley's luggage into their carriage — a rental, and not the finest, but sturdy and roadworthy enough to see them through the Lakes District safely.

"And I you," Lily said, squeezing Remus tight, "I'm not the only one, either. Father has been grumbling about your going for weeks."

"Don't I know it," Remus chuckled, "…the sorry look he gave me at dinner last night — I felt that I must be breaking his heart clean in two."

"You'll be sorry," cut in Mr. Evans, "when your Aunt bores me into an early grave, without you having been here to see me off properly."

Remus smiled softly at his Uncle. "Come now, Uncle, you are made of tougher stuff than that."

"Let us hope so, my dear boy, else you may find yourself with Pettigrew as a landlord," said Mr. Evans, "...and I expect he will be every bit as condescending as his own _esteemed_ neighbour."

Remus chuckled. "I imagine he would be, but if it's all the same with you, Sir, I'd rather not find out."

"I suppose I must attempt to survive the coming months, then."

"That would be most good of you, Uncle." Remus smiled.

Mr. Evans placed a warm hand on Remus' shoulder. "Go in health, and come back safe."

"I will."

* * *

Their travels took them through Derbyshire, and Remus knew very well that this was perilously close territory to Black's Manor — Pemberley. Mrs Weasley had spent some years nearby in the village of Lambton, and insisted that the house was worth seeing.

"Aunt, I do not think—"

"You have never seen a finer house, Remus," Mrs Weasley pressed, "I really don't understand your reticence — you _loved_ Mandrake Lodge, and it is not even half as grand as Pemberly. Pray, what is the matter with this particular house?"

"You must know that Mr. Black lives there." Remus argued. "I cannot see him, Aunt. Do not ask me why — let it suffice to say that we are not the best of friends."

"But Black is not even _there_, Remus," Mrs Weasley argued, "I wager we could come and go in a few hours, and he would never even know."

It was certainly tempting, to think that he might get a glimpse of the living which might've been his, if only his heart — or Black's character — had been in some way different. Everybody spoke well of Pemberley — the shopkeeps, the barhands, the stable-boys, all — of its architecture, of the grounds, and, most curiously to Remus, of its owner.

"Right noble gent, that Mr. Black," said Tom, the barkeep at The Sputtering Spigot, where they were staying, "I wager he's done more for the region in a few short years than the last six generations of his family put together! Gave my lad Marcus a job, he did, even though the lad had no experience — young Marcus was down on his luck, you see, has a bit of a bung leg after a nasty hunting accident, but Mr. Black took him on in the household anyway. Got his butler to see about training the lad up as a footman like it was nothing."

"I tenant one of his farms," said a man named Jones, "I fell into arrears — had a hard winter last year, and it was enough of a struggle to keep food on the table for the little ones — but Mr. Black didn't give me any trouble about it. Forgave the debt and told me to start paying again when I had a healthy yield. God bless his soul."

"Oh, dear Mr. Black has done so much for commerce!" said a Mrs Piper, who sold flowers in the market square. "Always buys his wears local, see, and he funds the physician's rooms and the apothecary, so that poorer folk can be seen to when they're ill. Not to mention what he does for the orphanage! He makes sure those poor children even get presents at Christmas, if you can believe! I swear, I've never known such Christian generosity of spirit as can be found in that man."

These glowing accounts were, suffice to say, exceedingly puzzling to Remus. The letter had influenced him a great deal in relinquishing his impression of Black's cruelty, though he still had some way to go before he would be content to proclaim Black _generous_ or _kind_, or, as the townspeople seemed to firmly believe, a literal _godsend_.

Part of Remus hoped that he might be able to make sense of the startling contrast in accounts of Black's character, as well as his own muddled feelings on the subject, if he saw the house and grounds. Perhaps there would be some clue, some clarifying element, which would allow Remus to at last assimilate his understanding of Black.

"Fine," he said to Mrs Weasley, relenting. "We may go to Pemberley tomorrow."

* * *

The carriage-ride to Pemberley was scarcely more than a half-hour from town, and it covered some of the lushest, greenest country that Remus had seen so far. He could not help the real smile which spread across his face as he breathed in clear air, taking in the little woods and bramble bushes and fox-holes of the district with delight.

Eventually their path veered, and the woods receded, and Remus found himself on the crest of a hill with the magnificence of Pemberley laid bare all at once before his eyes.

They exited the carriage and descended the hill, figuring they could do with the exercise. They instructed the driver to attend Pemberley's stables directly.

The walk was short enough for Mrs Weasley to tolerate, and she too was enthused by the notion of getting a closer look at the lake.

Then they resolved to apply to the housekeeper for entry.

The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking elderly woman in a tartan shawl, who wore her grey-streaked raven hair in a tight netted bun, possessing the distinct air of being unflappable.

The tartan woman — McGonagall — was more civil than Remus might have expected, though she spoke in a stern Scottish brogue, and she kindly took it upon herself to give the party a thorough tour of the household.

She was, it transpired, distantly connected to Mrs Weasley through an old employer named Dumbledore. The women chatted amiably about their mutual acquaintance, and the party followed McGonagall into the dining-parlour. It was large, well-portioned, and handsomely fitted — everything Remus might have expected a house like this to be like from the outside.

Remus, after a cursory glance at the cabinets and the chairs, went to a window to enjoy its prospect.

Every element of the grounds were good; and Remus looked upon the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as he could trace it, with delight.

As they passed into other rooms, Remus noted that there were new beauties to be seen from almost every window. All the fittings and furniture had been oriented to make the most of the grounds, and while the rooms were lofty and handsome, Remus saw, with admiration of Black's taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine. Here he saw more real elegance, and rather less needless splendour, than he had at Grimmauld Place.

_And of this place,_ thought he,_ I might have been master! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed into them as visitors my Uncle and Aunt. But no,_—recollecting himself, Remus glanced sideways at the Weasleys—_that could never be; my relations surely would have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite them here._

This was a lucky recollection — it saved Remus from a feeling very like regret, which had begun to bubble unpleasantly under his skin.

Remus longed to inquire whether Black was _really_ absent, but had not the courage for it. At length however, the question was asked by Mr. Weasley.

McGonagall replied that he was, adding, "But we expect him to-morrow, with a large party of friends."

This pronouncement briefly caused Remus' heart to stop beating as he considered the pure horror and humiliation of being discovered here, before he relaxed. How fortunate was Remus that his own journey had not been delayed a day!

Mrs Weasley now called him to look at a picture. Remus approached and saw the likeness of Barty Crouch Jr., suspended, amongst several other miniatures, over the mantelpiece. Mrs Weasley asked Remus, smilingly, teasingly, how he liked it — Remus narrowly resisted the urge to scowl.

McGonagall came forward, and told them it was a picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expense. "He is now gone into the army," she added; "but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."

Remus, who knew all of this very well already, only smiled thinly and nodded at the stern housekeeper.

"And that," said McGonagall, pointing to another of the miniatures, "is Mr. Black—and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other—about eight years ago."

"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said Mrs Weasley, looking at the picture; "it is a handsome face. But, Remus, you can tell us whether it is like him or not."

McGonagall rounded on Remus immediately, "Does that young man know Mr. Black?"

Remus coloured, and said: "A little."

"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman?"

"Yes, very handsome."

Remus thought he might die from embarrassment. Though that fate might be preferable to the conversation he was currently entrapped in.

"I am sure _I_ know none so handsome; but in the gallery up stairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this." Said McGonagall. "This room was my late master's favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them."

This accounted to Remus for Barty Crouch Jr.'s being among them, as he was sure that Black himself would not willingly preserve any trace of Crouch's connection to his family.

McGonagall then directed their attention to one of Master Regulus, drawn when he was only eight years old.

"And is Master Regulus as handsome as his brother?" Asked Mrs Weasley.

"He is _nearly_ the handsomest young lad that ever was seen," said McGonagall with a fond smile, "I confess myself biased to think Mr. Black a shade more fetching — I was his governess, you see, before I was made housekeeper. But Master Regulus is very accomplished — he plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new instrument just come down for him—a present from Mr Black."

Mr. Weasley, whose manners were always very easy and pleasant, encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks; McGonagall, either by pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his younger brother.

"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?"

"Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I dare say he may spend half his time here; and Regulus is always down for the summer months."

_Except,_ thought Remus, _when he goes to Ramsgate._

"If your master would marry, you might see more of him."

"Yes, Sir; but I do not know when _that_ will be. I do not know who is good enough for him."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiled. Remus could not help saying, "It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so."

"I say no more than the truth, and everybody will say that knows him," replied McGonagall. Remus thought this was going pretty far; and he listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, "I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have cared for him since he was four years old."

This was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most opposite to Remus' ideas. That Black was not a good-tempered man had been his firmest opinion! Remus' keenest attention was awakened; he longed to hear more, and was grateful to Mr. Weasley for saying:

"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master."

"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world, though I confess that I never knew a child with such a penchant for mischief, either! The trouble he used to give me… You'd scarcely believe it if I told you, I'm sure."

Remus stared at her. _Good-natured, generous-hearted and mischievous? Can she really mean Black? _

"Everybody in town knows him to be an excellent man," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Yes, indeed, he is singularly affable to the poor." Said McGonagall with a distinctly approving tone.

Remus listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more — but McGonagall could interest him on no other point. She related the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the furniture… and Mr. Weasley, highly amused by the kind of family prejudice to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon led again to the subject; and McGonagall dwelt with renewed energy on his many merits as they proceeded together up the great staircase.

"He is the best landlord, and the best master that ever lived," said she, "not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. Not one of his tenants or servants would give him a bad name. Some people call him _proud_; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

Remus choked and flushed darkly, though mercifully nobody noticed.

"This fine account of him," whispered Mrs Weasley as they walked, "is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend."

"Perhaps we might have been deceived there." Remus said mildly.

In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger — and so Remus walked in quest of the only face whose features would be known to him.

At last it arrested him—and he beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Black, with a smile over his face that Remus remembered having sometimes seen when the man looked at _him_. There was an earnestness and an openness in his expression, and Remus was struck rather powerfully — and not for the first time — with the thought that Black was very remarkably handsome.

"Is the flesh-and-blood man as good-looking as his likeness?" Mrs Weasley asked Remus with a strangely teasing lilt. Remus could only swallow and nod in response, turning his head to hide the blush which bloomed there.

Mrs Weasley seemed to sense Remus' need for privacy, and walked on with her husband and McGonagall to admire the other portraits.

_Get a hold of yourself, Lupin_, he thought, _it is not even the man himself — and it isn't as though you've any particular attachment to the original! _

Something about this assertion struck Remus as dishonest, and he frowned as he considered that perhaps his opinion of Black might have shifted more than he had originally thought.

Remus remained several minutes before the portrait of Black, drinking in the sight of the man in earnest contemplation, and could not help returning to it again before they quitted the gallery.

He wondered at his shifting feelings as he followed McGonagall through the house.

He certainly felt — at this moment, at least — more fondness towards Black than he had even at the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by McGonagall was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, Remus considered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship!—how much of pleasure or pain was it in his power to bestow!—how much of good or evil must be done by him! And every sentiment that had been expressed by the housekeeper was favourable to Black's character — it could not be easily dismissed. McGonagall had no great reason to lie for an absent master, nor did Remus get the impression that this was a woman easily given to falsehood or hyperbole.

When all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen, they returned downstairs, and, taking leave of McGonagall, were consigned over to the gardener — Sprout — who met them at the hall-door.

As they walked towards the river, Remus turned back to look again. His uncle and aunt stopped also, a fair distance from Remus, conjecturing as to the date of the building.

It was then that Remus saw him.

They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance that it was impossible to avoid his sight.

He was soaking wet.

Remus blinked, presuming that the bizarre apparition of the sopping wet gentleman would disappear — but to no avail. Black remained before him, white shirt clinging to him like a second skin and rivulets of water beaded and dripped from his raven curls.

Remus' first thought was: _Sweet Lord in heaven, so _that's_ what he hides under those fine waistcoats. _

His second was: _What he must think of me! Turning up at his home unannounced! _

Black visibly started, and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party.

"Mr. Lupin," he managed, voice a little rough, "I— erm—" his cheeks darkened, "I was just returning from a dip in the lake."

"Yes." Remus replied unintelligently, stunned.

Their eyes met, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest blush.

"Are you— Er—" Black crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably, shielding his nipples — which had been clearly visible through the sheer wet fabric of his undershirt — from view. "Are your family in good health?"

Remus stared.

"Yes, they are in good health, I thank you, Sir." _ I need to get out of here. _"Forgive me, the housekeeper informed us that you were not in the country. Otherwise we never would have presumed to impose—"

"Please — it is no trouble!" Black said hurriedly. "Erm— excuse me a moment."

And with that Black left Remus standing dumbstruck on the lawns beside the lake — Remus watched with mingled disbelief and horror as Black ducked out of sight behind an archway, the suddenness of his absence shocking some sense into him.

"Remus? Remus? Was that _him_, Remus?" Came Mrs Weasley's excited voice. "Oh, he every bit as handsome as his portrait, wasn't he? If not a touch more informally attired…"

"We have to leave." Remus managed, feeling the colour draining from his face as he was hit with the totality of his humiliation of being discovered here by _Black_.

"Well, if you wish—"

"Oh, I wish we'd never come at all," Remus moaned, "What he must think of me! Uncle, please, would you call for the carriage?"

"Of course," Mr. Weasley blinked, "...are you quite alright, Remus?"

"Yes, fine, just…" Remus waved off the inquiry. "We have overstayed our welcome, I think."

"Very well." Mr. Weasley nodded, and asked the gardener Sprout to escort him back up to the main house, so that their carriage might be retrieved from the stables.

It took longer than Remus would have liked to prepare the carriage, and by the time everything was readied Black himself was rushing down the stairs, having clearly hastily re-dressed — indeed, he was still buttoning up the front of his jacket as he hurried towards the party.

Black stepped towards Remus, equal parts unsure and decorous in his address; "Mr. Lupin."

Remus halted, unwillingly, as he had been about to climb into the carriage. He turned towards Black.

"Please allow me to apologise for not receiving you properly just now." Black frowned, as if noticing the carriage for the first time. "You are not leaving?"

"We are, Sir, I think we must." Remus said, blushing and wishing he could be anywhere else.

Black's frown deepened. "I hope you are not displeased with Pemberley."

Remus blinked. "No, not at all."

Black smiled softly. "Then you approve of it?"

"Very much." Remus swallowed. "But I think there are few who would not approve of it."

"Ah," Black's genuine smile would've certainly been infectious if Remus hadn't been so entirely mortified already, "but _your_ good opinion is rarely bestowed and, therefore, more worth the earning."

Remus blushed. "Thank you." He mumbled.

Black looked over Remus' shoulder at the Weasleys, who were watching on curiously. "Would you do me the honour of introducing me to your friends?"

Remus forced a nod, surprised by the civility. "Certainly."

Remus led Black a few paces over to where the Weasleys stood.

"Mr. and Mrs Weasley," he nodded at his relations, "Mr. Black."

Mr. Weasley removed his hat and smiled amiably. "Well met, Sir."

"Mrs Weasley is my Aunt, Mr. Black. Lily stayed at their house in Cheapside when she was lately in London." Remus could not entirely keep the edge out of his voice as he remembered, with a pang, Lily's fruitless efforts in town.

Black bowed to Mr. Weasley, and kissed Mrs Weasley by the hand. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

"And you, Sir."

"Where are you staying?" Black inquired of Mrs Weasley.

"In Lambton, Sir, for I grew up there as a girl. At the public house."

"Ah, Tom's place?" Sirius nodded, smiling. "Delightful village. I remember running from Pemberley to Lambton as a boy almost every day in the horse chestnut season. There was one very fine tree…"

"On the green, by the smithy." Mrs Weasley eagerly supplied, eyes lighting up in memory.

"The very one." Black agreed with a smile. "Mr. Weasley, do you care for fishing?"

"Indeed, I do, when I can get the chance of it."

"If you have time, Sir, you must come fish in my trout stream."

Remus blinked in surprise, looking sideways at Black — he would never have imagined somebody of Black's standing willingly inviting people such as the Weasleys to have free use of his grounds. Indeed, his civility towards them was beyond anything Remus had ever before seen in the man!

"…Or there are carp, tench, and pike in the lake here, if you prefer coarse fishing. I could provide you with rods and tackle, show you the best spots." Black continued, as if it was nothing. "Actually, let us walk down now." He turned to the carriage driver and said; "Follow us to the lake, my man will show you the way."

And so Remus had no choice but to follow Black and Mr. Weasley, who were chatting about fishing as amiably as two people ever had, while he trailed along behind them, arm-in-arm with Mrs Weasley.

"Is this really the proud Mr. Black you told us of?" Asked Mrs Weasley. "He is all ease and friendliness, no false dignity at all!"

"I am as astonished as you are." Remus managed. "I can't imagine what has affected this transformation."

"Can you not?" Mrs Weasley inquired knowingly, and Remus chose not to reply.

* * *

After walking some time in this way, descending to the brink of the river for the better inspection of some curious water-plant, the party turned back in the direction of Pemberley itself. Mrs Weasley, who, fatigued by the exercise of the morning, found Remus' arm inadequate to her support, consequently expressed that she preferred her husband's.

Mr. Black took her place by Remus, and they walked on together.

"Er—"

"Do you—"

They both chuckled, having gone to speak at once.

"Pray, continue," Black said.

"I was going to say again, Sir, how very unexpected your arrival was." Remus said. "If we had known you were to be here, we should not have _dreamt_ of invading your privacy—"

"I am glad you came." Black said plainly, knocking Remus terribly off-kilter. "It is… it is very good to see you again. I beg you not worry that I am at all displeased. Indeed, I am quite the opposite."

Remus blushed, not at all insensible to the compliment that Black paid him. "It is only that McGonagall assured us that you would not be here until tomorrow."

"I had planned it so myself," Black said with perfect calm, "but I found I had business with my steward, and rode on ahead of the rest of the party without informing anyone." He smiled a secretive smile. "I confess, I do have a habit of changing my plans without telling my staff. Minerva has scolded me for it something dreadful."

"Minerva?"

"My housekeeper, McGonagall." Black explained. "She's the one who keeps this place running, honestly."

"That's not the way I hear it." Remus couldn't help but say. "Everybody from here to Lambton sings your praises."

Black blushed modestly. "They are entirely too kind to me."

_Which is not a problem you and I have had so far._ Remus thought to himself with a pang of guilt.

"I admit, I was very impressed to hear of your Christian generosity of spirit."

Black glanced at Remus, a wry grin twisting at the corner of his mouth. "Lupin, do you really mean to _tease_ me for my good deeds, after you turned up at my residence _unannounced_? Like some common tourist?" The man's grin betrayed his joke immediately.

Remus laughed, and, unthinkingly, shoved Black lightly in the arm. "I beg you not to make fun of me on that score! I am still mortified."

"Needlessly," Black said dismissively. "As I said before, Lupin, I am very pleased to have you here."

Remus said nothing, but it gratified him exceedingly; there seemed little likelihood that the compliment of Black's civility was intended for any person other than himself — there was, after all, nobody else of his acquaintance present at Pemberley.

In spite of the fact the he very well understood the antecedents of Black's change in character, Remus' feelings of astonishment at its having occurred at all remained, and continually was he found himself wondering: _Why is Black so altered? It cannot really be for my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this! It is impossible that he should still love me._

For the first time, there was a strange aching feeling at the prospect of having lost Black's love. It caused Remus some alarm to notice this, as he had never sought out Black's affection or regard before.

"My friends will be joining me tomorrow," Black said, interrupting Remus' silent panic, "among them are some who claim an acquaintance with you; Mr. Potter, Miss McKinnon, Miss Meadowes."

Remus regarded Black briefly, and then turned his head away. "Oh."

They walked up a short set of stairs. "…There is one other person in the party who, more particularly, wishes to know you."

Remus registered some surprise that his reputation had preceded him _anywhere_, let alone among Black's friends, and surveyed the man warily. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Black said. "And so I was wondering… Will you allow me to… erm—Do I ask too much to introduce my brother to you during your stay at Lambton?"

Remus managed to conceal his astonishment reasonably well. "I should be very happy to make his acquaintance."

Strangely, Remus found that he meant this.

Black smiled, relief plain in his expression. "Thank you."

* * *

Black extended his hand to help Remus into the open carriage. Seeing no reason to refuse, Remus laced his fingers through Black's — finding them warm and reassuring to the touch — and pulled himself into his seat.

Remus looked back down at Black, and flashed him an awkward, grateful smile. "Thank you."

"I hope we meet again very soon." Said Black, voice dropping lower as he gazed at Remus with an intensity he remembered seeing only a handful of times before. Flattered, flustered, and totally out of his depth, Remus glanced away.

"Good day, Mr. Weasley, Mrs Weasely." Black said to his companions, bowing his head respectfully. "It was a pleasure to meet you both."

The Weasleys replied that the pleasure was all theirs.

Just as the carriage was due to pull away, Black stared at Remus meaningfully and said; "Good day, Mr. Lupin."

Remus only blushed and nodded, unable to completely stop the fool's smile that threatened to crack his face in half. Black must have noticed, because he smiled too, a glint in his eye that Remus might've called hopeful. _But no, he couldn't still… _

The carriage lurched into motion, startling Remus from his reverie. He turned to look at Black — who had made no move to return indoors and instead watched them leave — until his figure shrunk into the distance and eventually disappeared.

The observations of his Uncle and Aunt now began; and each of them pronounced Black to be infinitely superior to anything they had expected. "He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming," said Mr. Weasley.

"There _is_ something a little stately in him, to be sure," replied Mrs Weasley, "but it is not unbecoming. I can now say I agree with McGonagall, that though some people may call him proud, _I_ have seen nothing of it."

"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention." Mr. Weasley puzzled. "His acquaintance with Remus was very trifling."

"To be sure, Remus," said Mrs Weasley, "he is not so handsome as Barty; or, rather, he has not Barty's countenance, but his features are perfectly good. But how did you come to think him so disagreeable?"

Remus excused himself as well as he could; said that he had liked Black better when they had met in Kent than before, and that he had never seen the man so pleasant as this morning.

"Perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities," mused Mr. Weasley. "Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him at his word, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds."

Remus felt that they had entirely misunderstood his character, but said nothing.


	19. Regulus

It was not unseldom that Remus found himself in the mood for a Greek tragedy — today it was Euripides' The Bacchae.

His Aunt and Uncle had decided to call upon a distant a friend in town, having had few other engagements to take up their time over the past half-week. They had departed an hour ago to visit a Mrs Clearwater, who Mrs Weasley had known as a girl and still wrote on occasion — and so Remus had free reign of their rooms above the Inn at Lambton.

He reclined, a little more informally attired than usual, shirt half-unbuttoned, cuffs untidy, hair mussed… But what did it matter? After all, Remus was very comfortably settled by the window which overlooked the bustling street below, with nobody save Euripides for company.

And really, Remus thought, allowing himself a rare moment of self-admiration, who is to say that Euripides wouldn't appreciate the view?

Remus had gotten to the juncture of the Bacchae where women begin ripping cattle to shreds with their bare hands — the norm for a sluggish Tuesday, no doubt — when a he heard a sharp knock on the door.

Remus blinked, bewildered, and sat upright. "Yes?"

"Your friends are here, Sir." Came the timid call of the landlord's girl — Hestia, he thought, or was it Dolores?

Remus relaxed. Mrs Weasley's business with the Clearwaters must have taken less time than anticipated.

Not bothering to rise from his seat, nor adjust his appearance, or even to close his book, he called back out to the girl — "Of course, let them in."

There was some muted chatter on the other side of the door before it swung inwards on creaky hinges and the voices became suddenly clear; "… really, it was nothing, Hestia," came Mr. Black's voice, "…you must stop making a fuss of me every time I come to visit. I was perfectly happy to take Dedalus on. He's a hardworking lad, and rather bright, besides."

Remus shot upright in his chair, eyes wide with alarm — his book fell to the floor with a loud thunk, immediately drawing the gaze of his guests as they crossed the threshold.

Remus locked eyes with Black, and Black stared back — and Remus was sure the other man's eyes flickered down to his exposed collarbones and chest for at least a moment.

He felt horribly, painfully exposed.

Remus' cheeks heated as he ruminated in painful consciousness of his unbuttoned shirt and cuffs, his lack of waistcoat… Christ, he'd even poured himself a mid-morning port! He must look like a common philanderer!

All that was missing was a call-boy in his bed and the smell of opium, and his humiliation would be complete.

"Mr. Black." Remus blurted. "I—"

"Forgive me," Black immediately cut in, his head turned to avoid Remus' gaze, exposing one crimson cheek, "it was rude not to send notice—"

"—You see, I thought you were my Aunt—"

Mr. Black blushed darker — understandably put out at having been taken for a stout, ginger woman in her fifth month of pregnancy.

Remus rushed to clarify his meaning but was cut off by a snort from the doorway. "Auntie Sirius. I like it."

Remus' eyes flickered to the space behind Black, and with some shock registered the presence somebody who looked very much like the man himself — if not a touch younger and slighter.

There was a femininity to the other gentleman that Remus recognised from some of the portraiture he had seen at Pemberley, and Remus deduced that this must be Regulus. The man he presumed to be Regulus had sharp features, not unlike his brother's, and at present they were painted plainly with amusement.

Black cast a warning glance in his brother's direction. "Please forgive our intrusion and my brother's want of propriety—"

Remus hurried to reply, feeling terribly off-kilter; "—Please, the fault is mine, I should have thought to dress properly—"

"…and deprive my brother of a sight which may be the very pinnacle of his existence thus far?" muttered Regulus dryly from behind Black's shoulder. "No, I see no need for that."

Remus ultimately chose to believe that he must have misheard the other gentleman.

"We can call again another time." Black assured Remus. "I only thought— you see, we had need of the Smithy and the Inn was so near—"

"Please, stay." Remus found himself saying. "Just— forgive me, I just need a moment to make myself presentable."

"Certainly." Black said quickly. "Take all the time you need. I really do apologise for barging in—"

"It is my fault, really—"

"Nonsense—"

"Oh, honestly," Regulus groaned, "Mr. Lupin, I beg you don a waistcoat. I fear we may never be properly introduced if my dear brother happens to choke on his own tongue."

"Regulus—" Black hissed, though the younger man seemed wholly unabashed and merely offered Remus a coy smile.

"I'll be back in a moment," Remus eventually mustered, his heart hammering, before slipping into one of the adjoining rooms to change into more appropriate attire. He called back to his guests distractedly; "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

* * *

When Remus emerged from his rooms — brushed, buttoned, and wholly respectable — he found Mr. Black and Regulus milling near the window.

Black was holding The Bacchae in hand. "You dropped this."

"Yes." Remus managed, his mouth unaccountably dry.

Their fingers brushed for a bare moment as Black handed the book back to him, and Remus' stomach flipped.

"You've excellent taste in literature." Black said, seemingly wholly genuine. "I recall you told me that your father favoured the Greeks when we danced together at Peverell. I take it you've read Euripides before?"

Remus was exceedingly gratified at Black's having remembered. "Many times."

Regulus coughed, indiscreetly, from beside his brother.

"Erm, yes," Black became momentarily flustered, "Mr. Lupin, it would be my honour to present to you my younger brother, Mr. Regulus Black. Regulus, this is Mr. Remus Lupin."

They bowed in turn.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." Remus offered politely. "I have heard in many a quarter that you have some considerable talent at the pianoforte."

"And yet," Regulus' eyes glittered with mischief, "my brother tells me he has never been so diverted as when he heard you play at my Lord Uncle's residence at Grimmauld. To hear him tell it, your prodigious ability would make Mozart weep."

Remus cast a questioning gaze at Mr. Black, who seemed to have a sudden interest in something out the window. "I fear that Mr. Black has greatly exaggerated my talents, and I am sure he has not mentioned my playing so very much."

"Hah!" Regulus scoffed. "Mr. Lupin, my brother has spoken of little else since we were reunited this past sevennight. According to him, your accomplishments are beyond counting."

Remus felt warmth spreading through his extremities, and could not quite help the fool's grin that crossed his face. Black was still determinedly avoiding his gaze, but he could see quite plainly the earnest blush which coloured his cheeks.

He likes me. He thinks well of me. Even now.

The thought emboldened Remus more than he might have expected it to.

"Mr. Black, you'll make a fool of my by exciting all this anticipation of my person!" Remus' lips curved into a grin. "Pray, what other falsehoods have you fed to your brother?"

"I have only told the absolute truth." Black said softly. "That you are intelligent and talented, and that I hold you in the very highest regard."

It was said so earnestly, so gently, that Remus could offer no reply beyond a shy smile.

Regulus glanced between them, eyebrow quirked, and broke the silence that threatened to grow ever-longer between them. "To answer your original question, Lupin, yes, I do play the pianoforte. But…" For the first time in their brief encounter, the younger Black appeared unsure, "… I am not much inclined towards performing in front of groups."

"Oh?"

"I play for my own amusement, or my brother's, or the staff's. I cannot bear the thought of playing at parties." Regulus shuddered. "The prospect is… discomforting."

"I cannot see why you should be forced to display in public if it does not suit you. It matters only that you enjoy playing." Remus offered mildly, and was pleased to note the way that Regulus relaxed at his words — as though he had expected Remus would immediately push him into a stool and demand he play.

Remus did not miss the fiercely approving look that Black sent his way, either. His mood brightened considerably at the thought that he might have done something to earn Black's goodwill. Remus knew very well how close the brothers were, and felt an unaccountably strong motivation to form a positive impression upon the younger Black.

He told himself that these efforts were simple atonement for his prior cruelty towards Black. They did not spring from any partiality or affection. They didn't.

"Mr Lupin — my brother and I came to ask if you would do us the great honour of visiting tomorrow afternoon." Regulus said, a touch over-formal given the tone of their conversation thus far. "We would be pleased if you joined the larger party at Pemberley for tea."

"I should be delighted." Remus said swiftly, causing Black to smile modestly.

"Be assured the invitation extends to include Mr. and Mrs Weasley, also." Black added, "I set aside some fishing gear for Mr. Weasley's use, if convenient he can take it with him when you depart."

"Thank you, you're very kind."

"Oh, I doubt I use even half of the gear I own," Black waved off the compliment awkwardly, "…it is no great trouble to loan out that which you will not miss."

"Even so, I am sure Mr. Weasley will appreciate it enormously. The hiring fee for all that equipment is rather dear."

A funny expression crossed Regulus' face at the prospect of having to worry about something as trivial hiring fees for fishing poles, and Remus felt suddenly self-conscious.

"I suppose you needn't worry about such things." He said flatly, eyeing the younger Black. "What with your fortune, and good breeding."

Regulus, for his part, did look somewhat chastened. "Forgive me, Mr. Lupin. I am very fortunate, and sometimes forget to practice humility as I ought. My brother is always reminding me, for which I am grateful — I want to be a better man than my father was."

Remus softened. "That is quite alright."

Black watched this exchange cautiously, relaxing as Remus accepted Regulus' apology. "We will see you tomorrow?" He checked, staring steadily at Remus.

"Yes, yes of course." Remus nodded. "I will answer for Molly and Arthur, too. We have no fixed engagements."

"Very good." Black coughed. "Til the morrow."

"Til the morrow." Remus echoed, eyes never leaving Black's.

Regulus scoffed. "I'm here too, you know."

Black gripped his brother rather tightly around the forearm. "Farewell, Mr. Lupin."

Remus only nodded, throat dry, as Black manhandled his younger brother from the room. Regulus, for his part, looked back at Remus before he disappeared from view with a wicked grin and a wink.

That boy, thought Remus in mild astonishment, is a great deal more trouble than he appears to be.


End file.
